Acquaintance With Responsibility
by frustratedstudent
Summary: Courfeyrac deals with one of the consequences of having such a collection of women. Epilogue: It's 1848 and Marius Pontmercy has a visitor.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own any of Victor Hugo's characters. This is written for pure amusement. _

_I am honestly surprised that there has been little fanfiction detailing this kind of consequence. You'd think that at the rate Courfeyrac gets around, this would happen at least once. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility**

_May 12, 1831_

It was not usual for Enjolras to be among the first to arrive at the back room of the Café Musain. Normally after he got out of class, he would meet with one or two other people of a certain importance in the Latin Quartier, or engage in hushed discussion among some of his fellow law students, before heading off to the now frequent meetings of Les Amis del'ABC. On this particular dusk though, he skipped one part of this routine in order to gain just a little time for looking over his notes in hopes of being in a good position to sit his upcoming bar exam.

He had been alone for about a quarter of an hour when he heard someone knock thrice on the door that opened on the Rue de Gres. "Come in," he said.

He looked up momentarily as Courfeyrac rushed in, barely remembering to close the door behind him. "Enjolras? Did you get out of class early?" the younger student greeted distractedly.

"No. I just had to do a little studying," Enjolras replied, gesturing calmly to his notes. "Where have you come from?"

"Not very far," Courfeyrac replied as he straightened out his lapels. He ran a hand through his slightly mussed up curls and sat down heavily in one of the chairs and brought out a book of his own and opened it to a random page. "Where's Combeferre?" he asked after a few moments.

"He said he'd be a little late, since he's helping in a free clinic today," Enjolras said. "I think Joly is with him too."

"Oh," Courfeyrac mumbled. "What about Bossuet?"

"That I'm not sure," Enjolras said. "He'll be here within the hour, probably."

"What about Jehan and Bahorel?"

"Last I heard, they were meeting some of Bahorel's other friends at the Rue Saint Dominique."

Courfeyrac sighed deeply. "Feuilly's still at work. Dare I ask where Grantaire is?"

"Probably off playing billiards someplace else," Enjolras replied diffidently. For a moment, he watched Courfeyrac flipping through the pages of his book before clearing his throat. "Is there a problem?" he asked concernedly.

"Oh, no, nothing," Courfeyrac replied quickly, though the rather agonized look still lingered on his face. "Nothing to be worried about."

Enjolras snorted. "You've been doing some work at pretending to be reading," he pointed out. It was clear from his friend's agitated state that there was clearly some pressing matter on his mind. "_And knowing Courfeyrac, it could be anything from an argument with his mistress to the police trailing him someplace," _he thought.

Courfeyrac let out another more frustrated sigh before looking Enjolras in the face. "You wouldn't understand. It's not as if you have ever done anything to get in this situation," he said before burying his face in his hands.

"Haven't done anything?" Enjolras asked quizzically.

"Had a mistress," Courfeyrac muttered before giving Enjolras a withering look.

Enjolras nodded with visible relief. "I am quite sure that you will have little difficulty remedying that sort of trouble, considering your expertise," he deadpanned. At least it wasn't something that seemed to pose a clear and present danger for the ever-nearing revolution.

Courfeyrac shook his head. "It's not that sort of difficulty. I don't even know how---fine, I do know how it could have happened, but it's never happened to me in all the years I've been in Paris!" he exclaimed.

The blond law student took a deep breath before putting a hand on Courferyac's shoulder. "Is this something I want to know?"

Courfeyrac looked down and shrugged. "For one thing, I'm pretty sure you don't know Paulette. She's a nice girl, yes, with brown hair as you've never seen, and a pretty tilt to her chin. And such dimples. Well we met some weeks back, and things went as per one of the natural courses…."

Enjolras bit his lip as several rather unsavory scenarios came to mind. "And?" he asked tentatively.

"She's going to have a child. And she says I'm the father."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: The second installment (seems like this is going to be an interesting multichapter)_

_Roses for Ophelia: I used this account a lot some years ago, but was hesitant to use it again till last week. That's why I've been reviewing as Aurelia, anonymously. And yes, I do think that Courfeyrac could trust Enjolras to be the impassive voice of reason here. _

_insanemistosingsmore: I just had to torture poor Courfeyrac for a change (normally in my stories, he's the one torturing Enjolras…) _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (II)**

The one thing that Courfeyrac did not expect from Enjolras was silence. Knowing Enjolras, he could expect a tirade on his irresponsibility, perhaps, or more likely an exclamation of shock, but not an unsettling calm that left Courfeyrac hearing nothing but the thudding of his own heartbeat.

"Enjolras? Aren't you going to say something?" he asked tersely after what seemed to be an eternity.

"What's there for me to say?" Enjolras deadpanned, though it was evident that he had paled. "Do you expect me to congratulate you?"

"Well, no," Courfeyrac muttered uneasily.

"I'm not pleased with that sort of news, if that's what you want to know," Enjolras replied more seriously as he crossed his arms.

"You aren't going to lecture me on my lack of Jacobinian virtue?"

"It's not going to undo this situation."

Courfeyrac sighed with undisguised relief. He smoothed down his waistcoat and frowned when he felt the moisture stains there. "_Of all things, it had to be her tears," _he thought as a pang of guilt went through him. "The only thing I can be thankful for is that it was you who heard that, and not Pontmercy. I think I'd kill him with sheer shock," he said miserably.

"And of course you wouldn't want his death on your hands," Enjolras said dryly. "You are absolutely sure of what she told you?"

"Why yes! You think I'd doubt Paulette?" Courfeyrac exclaimed. "I was that girl's first…" he added in an undertone.

Enjolras shook his head. "Then there's only one right thing left for you to do then," he said.

"Enjolras, she's not going to take pennyroyal. She told me straight out about that," Courfeyrac said.

"I was not even thinking of that," the older student said. "I've heard enough from Combeferre about all its possible ill effects---let's not even discuss that."

Courfeyrac swallowed hard. "I'm not going to tell my parents about this."

"Most certainly not," Enjolras snorted. "I still remember what happened the last time your father was in Paris."

Courfeyrac winced at the memory that came to mind. "I had everyone calling me de Courfeyrac and mocking my boots for a month."

"That being a comparatively trivial thing as opposed to what your parents will do when they find you guilty of moral dissipation," Enjolras said. "Maybe a dalliance they will excuse, but not this. You will have to help your mistress out on your own."

"How then?"

"You could start by passing the bar."

"Enjolras, that was a joke, I hope."

"Most certainly not," Enjolras replied.

"What of the liberty of my student life?"

"You could have sat for the exam last year, if you had not failed those two classes."

"You're one to talk," Courfeyrac said. "You're only sitting for it now, and Pontmercy passed his last August."

"Pontmercy and I are enrolled in different law degrees. He enrolled at a young age, while I was almost twenty when I started," Enjolras pointed out. "I am not proud either of my own academic lapses."

Courfeyrac sighed in defeat. "I still can't sit the bar now; I'm short by two classes which I will have to take next semester. So what should I do then?"

Enjolras rested his chin on his knuckles, as if he was pondering something. "Find a job of some sort. You still have the time for it, and it would allow you to make some important contacts," he said after some moments.

"_I was hoping he would not suggest that," _Courfeyrac thought. "My Latin is not so bad. I can translate, or tutor some other undeserving fellow student."

Enjolras shook his head. "Now please be serious, Courfeyrac. The last time you tried to declaim in Latin, one of Jehan's friends from the Polytechnique accused you of murdering the language with your conjugations."

"He was drunk," Courfeyrac said dismissively. "Perhaps I can apprentice myself to some clerk or lawyer needing help with papers. It would help me with my knowledge of the written law and proceedings."

"That may be wise," Enjolras remarked. "Should I ask around?" he offered.

"I'll think about it. Maybe I'll find a better solution yet," Courfeyrac replied morosely. "By the way Enjolras, could you please not tell any of the others?" he asked after a moment.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed perplexedly. "They'll be of more help than I can be, at the moment," he pointed out.

"I know," Courfeyrac said, taking a deep breath. "But all the same, I don't want it getting out. Not a word, please? Not even to Combeferre."

"I swear. Not even to Combeferre," Enjolras said solemnly.

Courfeyrac cracked a relieved smile even as he closed his temporarily forgotten law book. "Now what to say to Paulette when I next see her?" he wondered aloud.

"That's your own affair, Courfeyrac."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Wow, responses here are unexpected. Thanks so much!_

_Eponine Thenardier: Courfeyrac really is the more honorable man, which is the general consensus here. He's not going to do a Tholomyes here, don't worry._

_Wendla Bergmann: I imagine that Courfeyrac would reasonably be more sober and less light-hearted than his usual characterization if he were actually to face a grave situation. After all, Courfeyrac is also the guy who also gives Marius some serious help and advice. _

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: Oh yes, the story bothered me too, till I could get back to the computer to type this. _

_AMarguerite: I'm really glad that Enjolras seems to be coming off well in this fic. I didn't want to portray him as completely unsympathetic or impassive, or as the sort to erupt into a tirade over this sort of matter, especially if it concerned a close friend. _

_ColonelDespard: I *almost* wrote the scene differently, with Combeferre or Jehan as the confidant. However my muse overtook me. I think that might have been a good thing. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (III)**

"You? You're looking for a job! Did your parents cut you off last week or did some other calamity happen?"

"It's not for me, it's for a friend of mine."

Michel Potier scratched his head as he looked at Enjolras quizzically. "What does your friend like to do?" he asked.

"He's a law student, like us," Enjolras explained. "Unfortunately his circumstances have become rather difficult as of late, and he needs to find some job that will also allow him to continue his studies."

"That is a broad category. Is he anyone I know?" Potier pressed on.

"I am not at liberty to tell you that," the older student said. The biggest difficulty about Courfeyrac's predicament, as far as Enjolras was concerned, was the discreet manner with which it would have to be resolved. Although he knew that Bahorel and Bossuet would probably also know of possible small-time employments in the legal arena, the need to protect Courfeyrac's secret left Enjolras with no other recourse but to confine his inquiries among his acquaintances and friends other than his lieutenants in Les Amis del'ABC.

Fortunately, there were a number of radical law students and attorneys that had proven themselves capable of handling other sensitive matters related to the covert activities of societies such as Les Amis del'ABC. Potier was counted among these, and was also a frequent visitor to the backroom of the Musain.

Potier nodded understandingly before looking up and down the Luxembourg walk as if ensuring that no one would hear his next words. "I take that this friend of yours knows of the ABC?" he asked in an undertone.

"Yes. Is there any place that he can apply that to?" Enjolras replied.

"I can think of one. My fellow tenant has an uncle named M. Drouet. He's an attorney with more papers and cases than he cares for. Maybe this friend of yours can make some arrangement to help him out," Potier suggested. "M. Drouet keeps a red bonnet in his room, so his nephew told me. As for Mme. Drouet, she's jealous of Marianne, if you know what I mean."

"That's very well. Where is his office?"

"I am not sure, but it's on the Rue des Macons. You could try to also ask for him at the Palais de Justice."

Enjolras nodded as he adjusted his satchel. "Thank you Potier. Will you be at the Musain later?" he asked.

"I suppose. Courfeyrac still has my notes from our lecture last week. I ought to ask for them; I was caught in today's recitation. Luckily for Courfeyrac, the professor did not think to call on him," Potier said, sounding a little miffed at the recollection. "What a lucky fellow indeed!"

Enjolras could only smile wryly at this remark. The thought would remain with him even after he took his leave of Potier, and headed for other parts of the city. As a precaution, he boarded the first omnibus he encountered on leaving the Luxembourg, then got off before the bus could cross the Seine, then walked a few more blocks before taking another omnibus that led more directly to Les Halles.

A quick check on his watch told him that he had tarried at the Latin quartier longer than he should have. "_Still, even if I do not get to talk to the majority of Feuilly's colleagues, it will be important to get the news anyway," _he reassured himself. As he walked towards the Rue Saint Denis, he caught sight of a man and a woman exiting a hat shop. Enjolras touched the brim of his hat in a tentative form of greeting, sure that he would be noticed by at least one of the pair.

"Oh---Enjolras! What are you doing here?" Courfeyrac called. The young woman he was escorting seemed to shrink back as if in terrible anxiety, till Courfeyrac held her arm firmly but gently and whispered something in her ear.

"Waiting for Feuilly. Have you seen him?" Enjolras replied casually as he walked up to the pair.

Courfeyrac shook his head. "Enjolras, meet my lady friend Paulette Vigny. Paulette my dear, may I introduce my friend Enjolras," he said cordially.

Enjolras bowed politely. "I'm glad to meet you, Citizenness Vigny," he said.

Paulette affected a quick curtsy, nearly tripping over the petticoats of her gray dress. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Enjolras. Maurice has told me a bit about you," she said in a more confident voice.

Courfeyrac colored slightly; whether it was from Paulette's manners or from the use of his Christian name, it was impossible to tell. "I told her nothing to embarrass you, Enjolras," he said to his friend. Turning to Paulette, who was fiddling with her bonnet, he said, "I'll escort you home, then I'll have to meet my friends."

"Maurice, must you?" Paulette asked impetuously. "You'd better not be at the dance halls, like you promised."

"Rest assured, Citizenness Vigny, Courfeyrac won't be visiting this evening at that sort of place," Enjolras said. "There are important things he has to see to, such as Citizen Potier's notes and an appointment at the Rue des Macons."

One of Courfeyrac's eyebrows went up. "What is at the Rue des Macons?"

"A situation you have to look into," Enjolras replied laconically.

Paulette shrugged. "I do not know what this is about, and as charming as your talking is, Monsieur Enjolras, I think I must start seeing to my supper before I am too tired to," she said more insistently.

"Well we must not delay in getting you home then," Courfeyrac said gallantly as he took Paulette's hand. He nodded to Enjolras. "Till later then."

"_I'll hold you to that," _Enjolras thought even as he nodded in return and continued on his way to the Rue Saint Denis.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I realized that the chapters of this thing are getting longer by the update. _

_Insanemistosingmore: The others will not exactly find out, just yet. I have a scene in mind in which some of them get a little suspicious though._

_AMarguerite: I noticed that nitpicky thing too. Hopefully this chapter will clear up the matter, since it's written from Courfeyrac's perspective now. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (IV)**

Almost as soon as they had crossed the Place du Chatele, Courfeyrac heard Paulette attempting to stifle her giggles. "Now what is so amusing?" he asked her.

"I was just remembering your friend back there," Paulette grinned. "That Monsieur Enjolras. He's quite a charming fellow."

Courfeyrac smiled by way of acknowledgment. It wasn't the first time that any mistress of his had made such a comment upon meeting his handsome friend. "It's not everyday you come across a Greek god walking across Paris," he said.

"Not quite a Greek god, Maurice. He's more like some angel, straight out of a painting," the girl said a little dreamily. "He's so mysterious though. What was all that business at the Rue des Macons?"

"I don't know," Courfeyrac replied, even though at that very moment he was already trying to deduce what Enjolras might have been referring to. "_He never openly talks about seditious business when there are women around, so it must have been about something else," _he figured.

"Maurice? Are you still here?" he heard Paulette ask after a few moments.

"Yes, yes," Courfeyrac replied, looking her in the face. He felt a pang of worry on noticing Paulette's pensive expression. "What seems to be the matter?"

"I'm afraid I will be out of my job soon enough," Paulette confided. "That harridan who runs the hat shop will put me out when she hears of our child."

"Why that is absolutely ridiculous of her!" Courfeyrac said in an outraged tone. "You're the best girl she's got in her shop, and I don't think she'll be so foolish to let you go over that."

"She doesn't like people to talk."

"If it comes to that, I'm sure you can find a situation."

Paulette shook her head. "How many respectable places will take in a girl when she starts to show and she has no husband to speak of?"

Courfeyrac flinched momentarily at the despondence in Paulette's voice. "I'll help you. I'll start looking for a job myself," he said insistently.

""Will any place take _you_?" Paulette asked wryly. "You're a student yourself."

"I do have time to spare to help out," Courfeyrac replied. At that moment, a jolt of realization hit him, making him unconsciously grip Paulette's hand more tightly. "_I've really got to find out how much asking around Enjolras did," _he decided.

"Maurice! I'm not going to just run off," Paulette laughed, lightly freeing her fingers from Courfeyrac's grip. "You're too charming for me to do that."

"I can't help it if I want you near me," Courfeyrac said. They were now outside Paulette's lodgings on the Rue de la Verrerie. After he escorted her to the door of her room, Paulette kissed him on the cheek.

"Will you be alright?" she asked. "You seem rather troubled."

"It's a passing thing. Till tomorrow, Paulette," Courfeyrac whispered before kissing her on her lips. He felt her sigh against him before she stepped aside to let herself into her room.

He quickly headed back outside and walked briskly towards where he could board an omnibus back to the Latin Quartier. "Getting a job is not going to be enough," he muttered, incensed at his inadequacy combined with the evidence of his procrastination. _"I was always better at getting these things for my friends, not for myself," he _realized.

Upon arriving at his room, Courfeyrac's first business was to locate the notes he had borrowed from Potier; the sheets of paper had nearly been lost under one of Courfeyrac's failed scribbles and a fichu from a long-absent mistress. After salvaging the much-needed papers, Courfeyrac opened his closet and his drawers. He rummaged through these receptacles, and without really thinking of it, began to make a sort of pile of some of his personal belongings right in the middle of his room. Trinkets from past mistresses, a few niceties from his friends, old books, some suits that had gone out of fashion, and his second-best walking stick all went into this frenzied heap of things he was going to sell off the next day.

He had almost been on the point of casting aside even his sword-cane when he felt it loosen somewhat so that the sword was nearly exposed. "What in God's name was I thinking? I am going to need this!" he laughed as he set the sword cane aside near his bed. However the moment after he did this, another dread question crossed his mind.

"_What am I going to do when the revolution breaks out?" _he wondered as he straightened out his clothes, looked over the pile one last time before picking up the notes and heading out to the Musain.

The tempest in his brain had not quite cleared up by the time he went into the Musain via the front room and opened the door leading to the passage in the back, not quite noticing that he had upset Louison by doing so. He barely remembered to knock thrice on the door as per the prearranged signal.

"Courfeyrac! You've almost missed it!" Joly said excitedly when he let the troubled dandy in.

"Missed what?" Courfeyrac asked with less interest than he normally would have shown.

"Jehan and Grantaire discussing the possible prophetic merits of Greek tragedy as applied to the present situation---meaning as a mirror of the social ills of the censorship," Joly replied, gesturing to a rather impassioned discussion in a corner that apparently till a few minutes before had been devoted to a game of cards. While Prouvaire listened to Grantaire's discourse on the fall of Thebes, Bahorel and two men who seemed to be bousingots were watching amusedly, cheering on whichever sides they saw fit. In another corner of the room, Combeferre, Bossuet and some other students were engrossed in planning the layout of their latest newsletter.

Courfeyrac chuckled as he watched Prouvaire bring a book out from his school satchel, nearly hitting Grantaire in the face with the sleeve of his bright yellow coat. He scanned the room for a few moments. "Where are Enjolras and Feuilly?" he asked distractedly as he and Joly sat down a little way from Jehan and Grantaire.

"Not here yet. Perhaps they had some previous meeting?" Joly shrugged. "You look quite upset, Courfeyrac."

"The usual trouble," Courfeyrac replied dismissively.

"We can drink about it then---the fellowship of us befuddled men and the vine," Joly said. "Musichetta isn't pleased with me again."

Someone knocked thrice on the door leading to the Rue de Gres. Combeferre, who was sitting nearby, got up to open it. "News from the law school," Potier said breathlessly as he stepped in.

"Did you run all the way from there?" Combeferre asked concernedly.

Potier nodded as he brought out a crumpled newsletter from a hiding place in his coat. Combeferre read it grimly before passing the paper on to Bossuet and the others.

"Censorship and more censorship. We must be cautious with this," Combeferre said as he turned back to his work. "Perhaps we should use some disguise, change the letterhead for a more bohemian-looking one…"

In the meantime, Potier sat down on an empty chair before his gaze fell on Courfeyrac. "You weren't in class today," he said a little pointedly.

"I was making good use of your notes," Courfeyrac said as he handed over the notes with a flourish.

"When are you going to take your own notes, Courfeyrac?" Bossuet ribbed his friend good-naturedly.

"Soon enough," Courfeyrac said. By now, he and Joly had joined the huddle that Combeferre and Bossuet were in, and had almost endangered the layout by nearly upsetting Bossuet's inkstand.

"Yes, the day that Bahorel there decides to go to class?" Potier quipped petulantly. "I was as unarmed as the day I was born when I was called upon in class. I had to resort to my opinions, which considering their color, were not so kindly accepted."

Amid the winces of sympathy, Bossuet gave Potier a sympathetic thump on his shoulders. "Clearly though, you have lived to report on your battle wounds," he said.

Courfeyrac gave Potier a smile of commiseration. "You will have your day against that fossil of a professor."

"Fossil? How unkind. The poor remnant does not deserve such a comparison to something which is decaying even as it stands," chimed in another medical student.

"If Potier is referring to the quality of a professor in being fixed in stone and unchanging, he would be quite accurate," Combeferre pointed out dryly as three more knocks sounded on the door.

"That had better be Enjolras. I was hoping this meeting would end early so I could make amends with my mistress," Potier said under his breath. "I must be catching your share of fortune, Bossuet."

"You are welcome to my share of it. I will merely go borrow someone else's," Bossuet retorted as Enjolras and Feuilly entered the back room.

"How was your errand on the east bank?" Combeferre asked amiably.

"We can count on having more in our numbers next week," Enjolras replied with a sort of contained happiness in his tone. "Feuilly has managed to convince some of his more trustworthy friends that we are not just another student society playing at the bohemian life."

Courfeyrac snorted at this. "Finally adding some gravity here?" he asked amid the ebbing of conversation which was a result of Prouvaire, Grantaire, Bahorel and the rest turning their attention towards the newcomers.

"You could say that," Feuilly said as he took a seat. "They are as diverse as we are, but a good number are agitating for an uprising no later than the end of this year."

Despite all of Courfeyrac's efforts to pay careful attention to the rest of the proceedings of the meeting, his mind drifted off inevitably to Paulette, to what he would have to discuss with Enjolras, and to other questions that were materializing before him now that the first shock had worn off. Still, he threw in an idea here and there when the meeting turned to the finalizing of the newsletter's layout, gave his opinion on the news that Potier brought from school, and succeeded in holding his own on a lively discussion on how to reach the masses using other means than surreptitious teach-ins near the workingmen's cafes. He was vaguely aware of Combeferre and Joly, with their expertise in observation, giving him concerned looks every now and then.

After the meeting closed at about ten-thirty, Courfeyrac waited until Enjolras, Combeferre, and Prouvaire were the only other people left in the back room. Just when Prouvaire went to ask Combeferre about some translation they were working on of Cicero's works, Courfeyrac took the opportunity to approach Enjolras, who was surveying a list that Bahorel had given him.

Apparently Enjolras had been anticipating this, since he motioned for Courfeyrac to sit down. "Have you made any progress in your search for a job, Courfeyrac?" the older law student asked.

"I haven't begun," Courfeyrac admitted as he set down his glass of wine on the nearest table. "I was just biding my time."

Enjolras laced his fingers together. "You do not have to immediately take up this offer if it does not suit you," he said. "That place in Rue des Macons is the office of Citoyen Drouet. I do not know anything of the man other than what I was told: he has a lot of work, he goes to the Palais de Justice and he is in the same fold as we are."

Courfeyrac nodded tersely. "I appreciate this, but I will make inquiries of my own as well," he informed Enjolras. Now he understood more fully why Enjolras had been willing to hint on the matter even in Paulette's presence. "How did you find it anyway?" he asked curiously.

"Potier. I did not tell him that it was you asking for a job," Enjolras said. "All I said that you were a law student with some present difficulties, and that you are involved in a secret republican society. There is little incriminating you there."

Courfeyrac ran his hands through his hair, remembering only then that he had been a little hasty in getting it to its proper appearance that morning. "I suppose I should go and ask tomorrow before someone fills the position for me," he said more brightly. "It should be fairly easy to make my professor in my last class dismiss us all earlier, so I can visit the Rue des Macons before I have to meet Paulette."

"Don't your classes start after lunch?" Enjolras asked critically, raising one blond eyebrow. "You can have the business over with in the morning."

"_Instead of sleeping?" _Courfeyrac thought with dismay. He contemplated voicing out this sentiment, but he decided against it on seeing Enjolras' serious expression. "I suppose you're right," he conceded.

"Besides, if you decide not to work for Citoyen Drouet, you can use the afternoon to look into other possible avenues," Enjolras pointed out.

"_Damn, he just has to be terribly practical," _Courfeyrac thought. He stretched back in his chair before looking at Enjolras again. "At least you did not think of asking Pontmercy which of his older colleagues needs help getting an office in order," he said half-jokingly.

"I did consider that," Enjolras said. "Now that you mention him though, there is a particular matter that I must ask him about."

Courfeyrac groaned. "Enjolras, you aren't going to try to entreat him to join us again, I hope?"

"I was merely going to ask him for a translation of a work of Paine," Enjolras replied in a matter-of-fact way. "It is merely for quotation's sake."

"Yes, quoting a man who met Danton in prison?" Courfeyrac joked.

"You know that "Agrarian Justice" is more than just a grave matter," Enjolras said.

"Since when did you diverge from reading on ideals and philosophies?"

"Since I've been contemplating the practice of them."

"You've been listening to Combeferre a bit much," Courfeyrac remarked before draining his glass of wine.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Trouble starts to mount here. I had a few good laughs writing this chapter though. It's more of a segue into the next part. _

_I am really not sure when bar exams were scheduled for aspiring lawyers at this era in time. In this reality, I'm giving more of the Amis some chance at starting their careers. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (V)**

As the warm days of June made their appearance, it seemed as if an undercurrent of unrest was sweeping through Paris. Stories of searches and scuffles were becoming more frequent, thus forcing the members of the Amis del'ABC and their comrades in other societies to be more secretive and cautious in their daily activities.

"_Yet eventually the time for boldness will come, and not even the King can stop that," _Enjolras thought one day as he was alone in his apartment. It had just been a few weeks since he had sat his bar exams, and passed them with less difficulty he had been counting on; he was pretty sure by now that some of his older friends at school had been hoping to spook him for their own amusement. He had also discovered quickly that the guise of a lawyer-revolutionary was not as easy to wear as that of a student-revolutionary.

This explained the precautions he was now setting up in his simple Spartan lodgings, should the police decide to pay him a visit. He had a few clothes and some francs stashed in a valise that he kept ready in case he should have to go into hiding on short notice. He had given up on hiding seditious tracts under the floorboards of his room or between the books on his shelf; now he had taken to folding the papers up carefully in his worn out cravats and concealing them in a high recess in the wall. The weapons he had been surreptitiously collecting were a more difficult matter. He had managed to hide a few pistols in the back of his desk, conveniently hidden by a wood panel and some of his books. He settled for putting his carbine at the back of his closet where hopefully it could pass unnoticed among his few coats. However this left him puzzled as to where he would hide the bullet-mold he had managed to acquire earlier that morning.

Just when Enjolras was on the point of cutting the underside of his mattress and concealing the bullet-mold there, someone knocked on his door. "It's just me," Combeferre said from outside.

Enjolras lost no time in admitting his best friend. "Thought you'd still be doing your experiments upstairs," he said by way of greeting.

"I was looking for a more suitable place for getting light," Combeferre said, holding up the small glass prism he carried in one hand. "That tree outside my window casts its foliage in a rather inconvenient way for my purposes."

Enjolras cast a glance at his window, which was less shaded than Combeferre's. "Alright then. Is this that experiment by that Arago fellow?"

"No, it's one of my own," Combeferre said as he began manipulating the prism. He glanced at the bullet-mold in Enjolras' hands. "I should guess you are at a loss as to where to hide that?"

The younger man nodded as he put aside the bullet mold on his desk. "I have exhausted every extraordinary hiding place in this room. I will admit that this is one time when lavish living, like say, Courfeyrac's or Bahorel's lifestyles, has its benefits. There are inevitably more places to hide such items."

"You clearly haven't been to Courfeyrac's place lately," Combeferre said. "Courfeyrac has practically stripped the place. He sold a lot of his things, little by little over the last few weeks. At first he said it was just so he could clear some space in his room or pay back some trifling debts of his, but now it seems a bit much even for that."

"Really now?" Enjolras said, though it only took him a moment to divine as to what possible end Courfeyrac may have taken such a step. "_Perhaps he just wants to augment what he is already getting from his allowance and his work with Citoyen Drouet," _he figured. Still, he made a mental note to ask Courfeyrac about this matter.

"Most definitely. What terrible expense does he have for him to do such a thing?" Combeferre wondered aloud as he sat down in the lone chair Enjolras kept in his room. "He never mentioned to anyone what it could be, and he doesn't tell even when he's asked. It could be very serious."

"I'm pretty sure he'll talk to someone in time," Enjolras replied confidently. "_Only that he did tell someone a long time back, and that someone is me," _he thought even as he just managed to keep a straight face.

"Whatever the cause, it has been enough to bar him from some of his entertainments," Combeferre reported gravely. "He has not been to the Café Voltaire for billiards for the entirety of the past two weeks. He's been drinking water when we meet at the Musain."

"What of it then?" Enjolras asked mildly.

"It isn't like Courfeyrac at all. Enjolras, aren't you the least bit concerned?" the doctor asked a little more tersely.

"_It was only a matter of time till someone had to ask," _Enjolras thought. He bit his lip, initially not trusting himself to speak lest he say something incriminating. It was a long moment before he dared to look at Combeferre again. "I will admit, I gave Courfeyrac a mission of some sort. It is rather time-consuming, but hopefully of little danger to him. Still, it is a matter that must be kept secret," he said. "_That isn't a lie; he and Citoyen Drouet have been making some progress with getting information and men," _he reassured himself.

"How could it force him to sell some of his better clothes, and even to cut down on his expenses for the past month?" Combeferre asked skeptically.

"It is likely that the two things are unrelated," Enjolras answered more curtly than he was accustomed to when around Combeferre.

Combeferre paused before nodding by way of understanding. "Hopefully the mission is indeed of little danger to him. The police's searches have been getting more frequent lately," he said as he moved the prism so that a spectrum now made its appearance on one wall of Enjolras' room. He brought a small square of glass out of his pocket and held it up to the light as if to check it. This piece of glass was coated in a sort of dark film that seemed to shimmer.

"How did you get that?" Enjolras asked.

"I coated the glass myself," Combeferre replied before passing the coated glass in front of the prism such that the spectrum it produced lost some color and became diffused and bent in some places.

"Quite remarkable, Combeferre," Enjolras said appreciatively, feeling glad that Combeferre had apparently moved on from the topic of Courfeyrac's circumstances.

"It was quite time-consuming," Combeferre said. He was almost beaming with pride at his accomplishment. "Making the coating completely even was the most difficult part of it. It had to let light through despite the seeming opacity of it. I imagine it could be of some use in the future, even outside of academic study."

"Perhaps if some more efficient way can be devised," Enjolras pointed out.

"Which could be the next step of this project."

Enjolras nodded before gesturing to the bullet-mold on the desk. "I was on the brink of hiding that in my mattress," he said.

Combeferre chuckled as he picked up the tool and surveyed it. "That might be a good place. How did you get it here without the police noticing?"

"With the help of a rather interesting coat I borrowed from Prouvaire," Enjolras replied as Combeferre handed the bullet-mold back to him. "It is a good thing that he has been spending the last two days attempting the Oriental look," he added.

As he expected, Combeferre's eyes widened with horror. "Again? In public?"

"Can we expect anything less from him?"

"I suppose not," Combeferre said as he rubbed his temples. "I'm not responsible for him if someone should complain at the Musain tomorrow of having seen a man spouting Racine while dressed in Turkish clothing."

Enjolras flinched at the image that came to mind. "As unseemly as it is, maybe this rash of Orientalism could be a good cover for the meantime," he conceded. "As long as Prouvaire does not try to explain himself to the police once again by using the incongruity of the King's claims and the reality being presented by the State, we should be safe a little while longer."

Combeferre smiled ruefully. "A very light matter turned serious."

"As most things are, in times like these," Enjolras said as his gaze went to the window, where the light of the sun was now being shaded by passing clouds.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Finally have time to sit down and write this! _

_Mlle. Verity: Thanks! I hope I don't disappoint you then!_

_Eponine Thenardier: Most fics really have the boys being students up until 1832, but I do wonder how effective this might have been in practice if they were trying to create networks of revolutionaries throughout Paris. Besides, I figured that there would be "off" times even for Enjolras as a lawyer (apparently even Marius, the only character who did pass the bar, seemed to have plenty of spare time). _

_PrinceEstEnChemin: Thanks! Enjolras really makes an unusual confidant though…_

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: If there really was a geek/innovator among the Amis, it would have to be Combeferre. _

_Roses for Ophelia: I don't get tired of Enjolras and Combeferre as well. Hopefully I can do more fics with them too. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (VI)**

As matters stood, Courfeyrac almost could believe that he would get through the next few months with less difficulty than he thought. After parting with his possessions, his next move was to secure less expensive lodgings. After some consideration, he decided to move to the Rue de la Verrerie, taking a room at Number 16. This new room of his was nowhere near as lavish as his accommodations in the Latin Quarter, but at least it was warm, relatively free of leaks, and had a concierge that did not interfere so much with the affairs of the building's denizens.

"_Now just to settle an annuity and I can breathe more easily," _Courfeyrac thought one morning in July as he readied for the day. As he straightened out his coat, he heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"A letter for Monsieur Courfeyrac!" a boy's voice replied.

Puzzled, Courfeyrac went to the door, and was greeted there by a scraggly looking gamin whose face was half-covered by a shock of yellow hair. "Who is it from?" Courfeyrac asked the child.

"It's from the lady that way," the child said, pointing with his thumb to the right.

Courfeyrac nodded as he took the note. "Did she tell you anything?"

"Only to tell you to come right away," the gamin replied impetuously.

"I shall have to oblige her then," Courfeyrac said a little wearily as he dug in his pockets for a franc, which he handed to the gamin.

"A franc at this hour?" the gamin said incredulously.

"It is all I can give right now, I am sorry," Courfeyrac said. "What is your name?"

"Navet," the gamin replied before examining the franc. "Then it's only fair, I suppose. The letter did not come a long way."

"Wait then!" Courfeyrac said, hurrying to a table where he had left a five-franc piece the night before. He handed this second coin to Navet. "You should get yourself some breakfast."

"Ha! I can feed the regiment!" Navet exclaimed merrily before taking a bow. "Thank you sir," he said before darting off downstairs.

Now alone, Courfeyrac unfolded the letter, which had been left unsealed. He frowned when he noticed the hurried, almost frantic script that read as follows:

"_My dear Maurice,_

_ "The worst has happened: I have been found out. I lost my place in the shop yesterday evening, and I need to send some money to my sister, who is very ill at Avignon. I went to speak with you last night, but you were not at home. Please see me as soon as you get this; I am too indisposed to leave my room as of now."_

_ "Paulette" _

"Once again the harpies of society strike," Courfeyrac told himself as he pocketed the note. He donned his hat and gave the rest of his attire a once-over before heading out towards Paulette's lodgings just down the road.

When he arrived, he found Paulette's door open. "Shall I wish you good morning, mademoiselle?" he called by way of greeting.

"You may," Paulette said, now making her appearance. She was wearing a thick gray dress and a shawl, but despite all of these garments, the curve of her belly was still evident. Her hair was out of its usual intricate knots, and was now tumbling down her back in an unruly cascade of curls.

"I feared you were ill," Courfeyrac said to her.

"I was, for a time," Paulette replied. "I am much better now though. Though with my luck, I may be in a worse way soon."

"You won't be, I'll see to it," Courfeyrac insisted as he clasped her hand. "Perhaps I could reason with that crone."

"Oh don't do it!" Paulette retorted, her voice full of anguish. "She's threatened to make me look as if I was a whore if I said anything more about the matter!"

"Another situation then. It can't be difficult to get you a new place to work in."

"As I said before, my dear, what place will take me in this condition?"

Courfeyrac looked down as he tried to think of different occupations and situations for the distressed woman before him. "_No place too dangerous, or too public," _he knew. He could not risk recommending her to any of the radical printers he knew, or conversely, to certain workplaces that had connections to his family. "I don't know of anything personally, but I think I can ask a friend to help us out here," he said to Paulette after a while.

"Who is this friend of yours?"

"Her name is Claudine," Courfeyrac replied. "No, she's no former mistress of mine. She's the long time friend of one of my comrades," he added, noticing his lover's rather put out expression.

"She is…discreet I hope?" Paulette asked.

"The most discreet of all women in Paris," Courfeyrac said. "It is a necessity in her situation. If you can be ready quickly, we can visit her right now where she is at work. I am not expected to be at M. Drouet's office till this afternoon."

Paulette nodded after a few moments. "Help me out here then," she said, pulling him into her modest apartment.

Over his years of being acquainted with various women, Courfeyrac had gained some rudimentary knowledge in the way of making a girl's hair presentable enough for her to at least leave his room without embarrassment. Therefore it was not too difficult for him to help Paulette put on some semblance of fashion as far as her hair was concerned. In a short time, the couple was already out of doors and making their way to the neighborhood of Picpus.

On one street in that district of Paris, there resided a family comprised of an elderly but hale trader of fabrics, his feckless son who had taken up the life of a loafer, and a young daughter who took her brother's place as their father's aide in his business. Mlle. Claudine Andreas, or Citoyenne Andreas as she was sometimes referred to by certain individuals, was not only an industrious and dutiful girl, but was also something of a bluestocking. This quality of hers had somehow led to her befriending a certain student who had, at the time he met Mlle. Andreas, been interning at the Necker Hospital.

"_And of course if she is Combeferre's friend, she can be trusted to keep a secret," _Courfeyrac thought as he and Paulette knocked at the door of M. Andreas' office, which was near his house.

As luck would have it, Claudine was the one who met them at the door. She was a voluptuously built woman who had a dimple in one cheek and glossy chestnut hair. Although she wore no makeup, her simple hairstyle and elegantly cut green pelisse lent her an air of classical beauty. She had apparently been in the middle of some work, judging by the heavy ledger she held. "Why, Courfeyrac! It's been some time since you've been in this neighborhood. And who's your friend?" she said by way of greeting.

"It is an important matter, Mademoiselle," Courfeyrac said amiably as he and Paulette entered the shop. "Claudine, meet my friend Paulette Vigny. Paulette, meet Claudine Andreas."

"A pleasure," Claudine said warmly. "I don't recall seeing you in the cafes or the dances. Is this the first time that Courfeyrac introduced you to his other acquaintances?"

"I think he prefers to keep me in seclusion," Paulette said.

"Only to keep you out of trouble, Paulette. The cafes haven't been very quiet, nor the circles I move in," Courfeyrac said defensively.

Paulette rolled her eyes teasingly at the young man. "You do accounts?" she asked Claudine, indicating the ledger that the girl held.

"It's something I have a head for," Claudine replied, not concealing her pride. "Perhaps you should take a seat Paulette," she added, gesturing to a chair.

Paulette's cheeks burned even as she sat down. "Maurice, I mean, Monsieur Courfeyrac said that you could help me get a job," she said as demurely as she could.

"A job!" Claudine exclaimed. "Well, this is unusual. Can you read and write?"

"Well enough. I used to be a seamstress though," Paulette replied.

Claudine nodded by way of acknowledgment. "Still, that is good. If my father allows you, you can help me with the front of the shop. Can you manage though even as you are?" she asked.

"I suppose," Paulette said, crossing her arms over her middle.

"How far are you along?" Claudine asked.

"I'm not sure. Maybe four months. Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," the older girl replied. "I'll ask my father about getting you a place here. I'll send word to you and Courfeyrac, at what addresses?"

"Rue de la Verrerie," the couple answered in unison.

Claudine glanced from Courfeyrac to Paulette. "You're living together?" she asked tentatively.

"No, but I live close to her now. I found a better lodging than that hotel in the Latin Quartier," Courfeyrac explained. "I'm at number 16, she is at number 22."

"Well, Combeferre did mention that you and some other friends of his moved, but of course he never said where," Claudine said. "Speaking of Combeferre, he was supposed to come by here, since I've got some news from Aix that might interest him."

At the mention of his friend's name, Courfeyrac practically bristled. "If that is the case, then I think Paulette and I will be completely in your way. Many thanks-"

Just at that moment, the door to the shop opened. "Courfeyrac? What are you doing here?" Combeferre asked from the doorway.

Courfeyrac steeled himself to turn around to meet the surprised faces of Combeferre, Prouvaire and Bahorel. "_No use lying to them now," _he decided. Besides, he knew that with Paulette's presence in the shop, it would not be wise to pretend that he was not connected in any way to the grisette.

"Good morning, friends. I was just accompanying my lady friend to help her make some purchases," Courfeyrac said as calmly as he could. "Gentlemen, meet Mlle. Vigny. Paulette, may I introduce my friends Combeferre, Prouvaire, and Bahorel."

"Enchante, Mademoiselle," Prouvaire said as he tried to bow in his rather tight outfit, the main features of which were a bright blue doublet combined with a darker blue waistcoat and green pantaloons. He winced as he straightened up abruptly. "My apologies, mademoiselle. I think this Romantic plumage impedes the courtesy necessary in this situation," he said.

"You might have done better to wear your Oriental outfit, my friend," Bahorel suggested mirthfully as he fiddled with the collar of his own rash waistcoat.

"As comfortable as it appears, it may not be appropriate for this errand," Combeferre said reprovingly, dusting off the lapel of his green coat. "Do you work here with Mlle. Andreas?" he asked, directing his question to Paulette.

"No, but I hope to," the younger grisette replied.

"If she's with Courfeyrac, I suppose she can hear the news," Claudine said to Combeferre. "It is not an extremely delicate matter," she added in a lower tone.

"What I have though needs more care," Combeferre said, making a quick gesture to something in his coat.

Recognizing the significance of this gesture, Courfeyrac nodded to Paulette. "We should be going now. I will see you all later," he said casually. "_It won't do to have her hearing of matters that could endanger her if the police get too curious," _he thought.

"So soon?" Bahorel protested. "And spiriting away pleasant company too!"

"I am truly sorry, but we have prosaic errands to accomplish before we can set our sights on either being daring or being Romantic," Courfeyrac said ruefully.

"In your cases, they are practically synonymous," Combeferre pointed out. His eyes were serious when he looked at Courfeyrac again. "Could you meet me at the Musain for lunch?" he asked.

"_I am in trouble," _Courfeyrac realized. "Alright then. That's before I go to my classes," he replied.

Bahorel and Prouvaire exchanged astonished looks. "You intend on sitting in on the lecture today?" Bahorel asked incredulously.

"_Now that's done it! Two mistakes in as many minutes!" _Courfeyrac thought. It was all he could do to keep a straight face. "I fear Enjolras is rubbing off on me. I may decide to get that poor bar exam over with," he said.

Prouvaire snorted while Combeferre smiled bemusedly. At that same moment, Paulette took Courfeyrac's arm. "Come outside with me, please?" she said in his ear.

"What then?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Can we go now? Or do I have to drag you by your cravat?" Paulette asked.

"You are too harsh, my dear!" Courfeyrac said as he took her arm, only to be half-dragged outside the shop by Paulette.

Once they were a little way down the street, Paulette pulled him into an alley. "Maurice, what _else_ haven't you told me?" she demanded.

"What? What do you want to know?" Courfeyrac asked, completely at a loss as to the sudden shift in Paulette's mood.

"I knew that you and your friends had political opinions, but I didn't know you were involved in some sort of secret society!" Paulette replied indignantly. "Do you think I don't know what that business with Mlle. Andreas and M. Combeferre was all about?"

"Paulette, please! Someone might be listening!" Courfeyrac begged as he moved to grasp her hands.

The young woman looked at him tearfully. "How could you do it, Maurice? Did you fight on the barricades last year?"

"I did."

"So if there is another emeute, you will fight too?" she asked pointedly.

"Paulette, you know that what is happening now is not what we fought for last year. I fight because there is a Republic, a future that I want to see," Courfeyrac said.

"That's all well and good, Maurice, for you at least!" Paulette retorted angrily. "What if you go to prison? What if you get killed? What kind of a future will you leave then for our child?"

"If it comes to that, I hope it's a world where he or she can really be free-a citizen and not just the subject of a King."

"And a life without a father? I don't think I can allow that."

The words sent a chill through Courfeyrac's chest. "_Could you really allow it too?" _he wondered. He recalled the face of Navet, as well as of the various orphans and gamins that he and his friends encountered and tried to help from time to time. "_No child of mine should ever have that life," _he resolved. Still he knew that if he wasn't careful, he would be already be dealing a bad hand for his child's future even before he or she could see the light of day.

_"However you can't think only of yourself, or your family! Whatever happened to the abased, your crusade and your country?" _a voice berated him. Courfeyrac shut his eyes momentarily as the memories from the previous year surfaced in his mind again. "_The people need their due too," _he thought.

He felt Paulette clasping his hands and stepping much closer to him. "Maurice? I'm sorry if I upset you," he heard her say soothingly.

"You're right though," he said as he looked into her frightened, imploring face. "_If something happens to me, she's not going to be able to take it all alone," _he realized with a jolt of fear. He kissed her cheek by way of asking and accepting forgiveness.

"Must you meet with M. Combeferre later?" she asked him.

"I don't think we'll be discussing dangerous matters," Courfeyrac said. "I think he will want me to explain some things."

"You mean, he will want you to explain _me_," Paulette said bluntly.

Courfeyrac nodded. "I owe my friends, my brothers the truth," he muttered. "_I ought to thank Enjolras for keeping my secret as long as he could_," he reminded himself as he and Paulette left the alley.

After escorting Paulette to the Halles to buy some items, then seeing her safely back to the Rue de la Verrerie, Courfeyrac headed to the Musain. Much to his relief, none of his friends were present. "_Maybe they are off consoling Corinth," _he figured as he seated himself at a table and ordered some water from Louison.

Eventually, he caught sight of Combeferre crossing the Place Saint-Michel. "_He looks even more shocked than Enjolras did," _Courfeyrac noted as his friend entered the Musain.

Combeferre put his books on one end of Courfeyrac's table before sitting down rather quickly in the nearest chair. "I think you know what I came to ask you about, Courfeyrac," the older man said.

Courfeyrac swallowed hard. "About one of the possible consequences of Danton's definition of virtue?" he quipped weakly.

Combeferre shook his head as he looked down. "Why didn't you mention this to _anyone_?" he asked after a few moments.

"Actually I did intend to tell you initially, but Enjolras got the truth out of me first. He happened to be the first at the Musain the day that Paulette told me the news," Courfeyrac admitted.

Combeferre's eyes widened with shock and something that could have been read as hurt. "Enjolras _knows?" _

"I made him swear not to tell anyone. I am sorry."

"I don't believe it," Combeferre said, shaking his head in disbelief. "When I asked him about the reason for your sudden thrift and unusual hours, he told me that he sent you on a mission at the Rue des Macons."

"It's still the truth because I am on a mission there, to help M. Drouet with his cases and meeting people," Courfeyrac argued. "It just happens that the bigger mission and actual reason is that I simply had to get a job to support Paulette, and that was the place that Enjolras was able to get for me."

Combeferre nodded. "You still could have come to us to ask for help. We wouldn't refuse you," he finally said. He sighed deeply as if trying to collect his thoughts and form his next words. "Fine, I know that some of us like Grantaire would say that you had it coming, but you could have counted on us all the same."

Courfeyrac nodded, feeling relieved, ashamed, and guilty all at once. "I was just afraid, Combeferre-afraid that none of you would understand what I was going through at that moment. When Paulette told me that I was going to be a father, I had to start becoming different. I couldn't exactly be the Maurice Courfeyrac that most people know, the law student with a collection of mistresses, heedless escapades, and endless pleasures," he said slowly.

"You're more to us than just that," Combeferre insisted.

"I know, and that's just the thing too," Courfeyrac continued. He could feel his next words thickening in his throat. "A year ago, if you remember, we were at the barricades. We were afraid and angry, but we fought with no questions asked simply because there was one cause to fight for; the Republic. Now, it's still true for you, for Enjolras and the rest. Not for me."

"Now since you have a woman and a child to take care of, you worry about their welfare too," Combeferre said understandingly. "Don't think that I have never thought about it too myself, about how married men, fathers and supporters of families will fare when the revolution must be fought again."

"And what do you conclude then, Combeferre?" Courfeyrac asked.

The young doctor ran his hands through his hair. "While I believe that there is no wrong in a man seeking the individual welfare of his kin and home, there is also a higher call that goes beyond hearth and home. The men who volunteer to fight know the risks. They risk their duty to stay alive and well for their families' sakes in the hope of ushering in a future that will benefit all-even the homes they seem to have set aside."

"Now I understand why till now Enjolras has never had a mistress," Courfeyrac remarked a little morosely.

"We all know he has a mistress: Marianne," Combeferre pointed out. "And even then, there is still some conflict there. His parents and even some of his friends have told him time and again that he can better serve his ideals by staying out of trouble—to change his politics so to speak—so that he can live to be a benevolent landowner when he inherits the estate, so that he can become a deputy and a voter, and eventually have a family that will inherit his vision. Yet you and I know why he sets all of this aside and prefers to pursue his ideals to the fullest, even if it can cost him his life."

Courfeyrac managed a smile. "If only we all can free ourselves of earthly matter to soar to the light without any hindrances," he quipped.

"The very story of human existence," Combeferre said. "You're in for some difficult times, my friend. Still, allow me to congratulate you."

"I have only water, which makes a poor toast," Courfeyrac pointed out.

"The wine will be on me then," Combeferre said.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I am back! It's a long weekend, so I ought to get some time in to write this. The idea of the Amis having a newsletter was inspired by a_marguerite's awesome fic "Aunt Wodehouse Pays a Visit". _

_Review replies here: _

_Eponine Thenardier: Of course Enjolras will never get distracted from revolution. That's one thing we can always count on him for ; - ) _

_Mam'zelleCombeferre: I hope I do the Amis' reactions justice in this chapter_

_Insanemistosingmore: Considering the secrecy required by the Amis' activities, I doubt the boys let their women know too much, unless they could be sure of their stances/opinions. Besides I imagine Courfeyrac being the sort who'd prefer to shield his lover from this kind of venture instead of getting her involved. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (VII)**

"Did Courfeyrac honestly think he was going to keep a secret for that long?"

"Of course not, Combeferre. I imagine though that at that moment, he was not willing to have his personal life so exposed when he was not yet sure how to master it."

The young doctor nodded understandingly as he adjusted his green coat against the rising afternoon wind. "It must have been awkward for him to confide in you, of all people," he said to Enjolras.

"Not as awkward perhaps as he felt when you, Prouvaire and Bahorel found out," Enjolras pointed out before carefully looking up and down the Place Saint-Michel. "At any rate, some of the others probably have news of it by now."

Combeferre smiled grimly as they crossed the street. "Speaking of news, I just stopped by our printer. The newsletter is ready to be given out. It's almost unbelievable that Bossuet was able to get it printed," he said with a smile of quiet triumph as they entered the Rue de Gres.

"There are always reliable printers in the Fauborg Saint-Antoine, even for such inflammatory material" Enjolras said decisively as they reached the foot of the small stairway leading to the backroom. "Who can we count on to help us distribute the paper?"

"About twenty of us, you and me included," Combeferre reported. "We should have an easier time working in the Halles area since now both Feuilly and Courfeyrac have places nearby, where we can store some of the copies temporarily."

"The only difficulty now is getting the copies out of the printer's shop without attracting suspicion," Enjolras said pensively. "It will not do to have people going in and out of Citoyen Fabre's shop all day. We have to make as few trips as possible."

"Claudine and I can make one trip, complete with getting a cart for goods _and_ the papers," Combeferre suggested. "As for other trips, I suppose we will just have to ask the rest for any ideas."

"Let's not delay in meeting them then," Enjolras said, now having reached the top of the staircase. He opened the door, and was greeted there by the sight of Prouvaire, Bahorel, Joly, and Feuilly all trying to talk to an obviously harried Courfeyrac. Bossuet was standing nearby, trying to keep Grantaire from butting in the conversation. There were other students and a few working men in the room. Some were looking on with interest but more of them were occupied in discussions of their own.

"Enjolras, Combeferre, you have to save me from this mob," Courfeyrac said pleadingly when he saw the newcomers.

"Mob? We were just advising you," Joly said, crossing his arms petulantly. "After all, you are the one she's going to ask help from in a few months!"

"I'm just the father, I'm not a goodwife or a doctor!" Courfeyrac retorted a little more loudly than was appropriate.

"If you had been intending to keep this matter quiet, you have completely undone it," Enjolras said firmly, putting a sympathetic hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder as he passed by to get to a chair.

"Much like the reeds with the tale of Midas' ears," Grantaire quipped.

"Can we discuss this matter later and perhaps in a more appropriate location?" Enjolras asked dryly. "It's about time we called this meeting to order," he added more loudly as he brought some papers out of his satchel.

In a few moments, all eyes were on him. Enjolras let the silence linger a moment longer before continuing. "As you all know by now, once again, the city of Paris is gripped in unrest. The time to act is not yet now, but these days are the opportunity we have to fan the flames. It's timely-our newsletter is ready to be distributed. We must see to this task immediately before water dampens the spark."

As he expected, this produced an undercurrent of activity in the room. Producing and disseminating a "dangerous" newsletter was one of the more brazen activities of their secret society; in its own way it was even more dangerous than covertly collecting arms or meeting with other underground groups.

"Tomorrow is a Wednesday. There is no better time to distribute at the Ecole Polytechnique," said Alain Foulon, a student who had somehow escaped that particular institution for the day.

Enjolras nodded in acknowledgment. "It's a busy day at the Sorbonne tomorrow, but so much the better to be handing out papers. The same as well for the courts, where I will be tomorrow to get news and give it," he said. "We can also count to be giving out the paper near the medical school, and over near Corinth and other cafes in Les Halles. What about the masons, Prouvaire?"

"We have leave from some of the masters," Prouvaire replied cryptically.

"There's Picpus. Definitely, we have Picpus," said a working man named Stendhal, shooting a meaningful glance at Combeferre.

"I will also need a person or two to simply visit Richefu's before noon tomorrow to bring the papers there before their meeting," Enjolras continued, picking up one of the papers he had, which turned out to be a list of places. After giving it a cursory look, he tore it carefully into small bits, which he folded up on the tabletop. "This particular edition is so sensitive, and the police's eyes have been so sharpened so that we must exercise more caution than usual. Hence the need for having to conceal where each other will be," he explained to the puzzled assembly.

"We won't be working alone, I hope?" Joly inquired.

"In pairs, as usual," Enjolras said, motioning for him and another student named Bayard to come forward. He unfolded one of the scraps of paper before pressing it into their hands. "Though of course, I know you are already aware where you ought to go?"

"Is it really wise?" said Bayard, glancing at Joly. "He will come back with something, for sure."

"Let's hope it does not kill me before I return to the Musain," Joly said dryly.

Enjolras shook his head, already very much used to Joly's complaints after the latter visited the medical school. After he distributed the rest of the papers in a similar fashion, he motioned for Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Prouvaire, Bahorel, Bossuet, and Joly to gather round. He also noticed that Grantaire had joined this circle, but he simply chose not to say anything about it.

"The other matter though before we can distribute the paper is how to get it out of Citizen Fabre's backroom and to places where we can rendezvous with the rest," he explained. "Now in the past it was simple to be seen carrying huge stacks of paper, but now we cannot risk being caught. I'd take charge of it myself, but I need to meet some of the leaders of the Friends of the People before I go to the Palais de Justice. Combeferre, if you and Citizenness Andreas are going through all that trouble, will it be dangerous still for the shop to be used as a rendezvous for those who will be distributing in the Latin Quarter?"

"As long as those who will meet us are discreet, there shouldn't be cause for complaints," Combeferre replied.

"I can pick up the papers that will be distributed in the Halles, but I cannot use my workplace as a rendezvous," Feuilly said.

"I'll do it then," Courfeyrac chimed in. "My place is close by too."

Enjolras bit his lip at this. "_Trust Courfeyrac to volunteer for the more dangerous part of the operation," _he thought. It was something he had hoped to exempt his busy friend from, but now it seemed as if there was no escaping this. "Won't you be wanted at the Rue des Macons?" he asked critically.

"I am sure that M. Drouet will not mind, especially if I settle it early enough in the day," Courfeyrac replied flippantly.

"Yes, but you will be going out to distribute the paper later in the day," Enjolras pointed out. "You cannot absent yourself twice in one day."

"And another thing Courfeyrac, what if you are caught? What will happen to your mistress, especially in her situation?" Joly asked.

Courfeyrac went livid for a moment. "Just because I will soon have a child to look after, that doesn't mean I should be exempt from doing what I can for the Republic," he answered with vitriol.

"Joly has a point," Bossuet argued. "Your luck is probably better than mine, but in these times, that is no protection."

"Besides, there will be other times where your help will be absolutely necessary, and we should wish to spare you for that," Combeferre added more kindly. "I know you are intrepid and you mean well, but let others rise to the occasion and take care of this business just for tomorrow."

"I'll go to the printer then," Bahorel volunteered. "It should keep me out of my classes for another day."

"And miss the opportunity for another Romantic caricature? How could you?" Prouvaire retorted in mock-horror.

"I must show mercy. My professor's visage has been abused enough," Bahorel replied with an otherwise convincing show of gravity.

Enjolras nodded resignedly. "You are in no risk of finding your studies abruptly discontinued from all your absences?" he asked his friend.

Bahorel shook his head. "I make sure to attend at least once."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you would be talking like a responsible working man, Enjolras," Feuilly said half-jokingly.

Enjolras gave the fanmaker a wry smile. "If only to understand and serve the abased a little better," he said before going to the table to look at the next bit of the agenda to be discussed. Even as he did so, he saw Courfeyrac sigh dejectedly and slump into a chair. Grantaire moved as if to talk to him, but the younger man waved him off.

"_I'm sorry to do this, my friend," _Enjolras thought before going to further discuss their plans. Throughout the remainder of the meeting, he sometimes saw Courfeyrac either listlessly looking over his own notes, or drinking one glass of wine after another, clearly trying to deal with his very unsettled state.

At the close of the gathering, just when the backroom was almost empty, Courfeyrac got to his feet but nearly fell against a table. "There. Even if I was set to fetch the papers myself, the gift of the vine would prevent me from doing so," he muttered.

"You're drunk, Courfeyrac," Enjolras said concernedly, going to help the younger man up. "Combeferre and I will see you home."

"All the way to the Rue de la Verrerie?" Courfeyrac asked, now practically leaning on Enjolras for support.

"Well why not? I may as well stay there if I am to go to the Fauborg Saint-Antoine first thing in the morning," Combeferre said candidly as he went to help Enjolras get their friend down the stairs.

"I am turning useless. First I do a terrible job of staying out of trouble, then I cannot keep my own secret, then I cannot be of use to the Republic, and now I cannot even get home on my own," Courfeyrac complained.

"You aren't useless!" Enjolras upbraided him. It was all too clear that the wine had loosened Courfeyrac's tongue so that he was now voicing out the frustrations he had been trying to rein in for the past few months.

"I'm not like you two," Courfeyrac said. "You two know how to keep your lives the epitomes of Republican virtue. Me? I'm struggling with that, and you have no idea how that makes me feel some times."

"We're just men as much as you are, Courfeyrac," Combeferre said firmly but gently. "Do not think that all of this makes you any less of a person or a friend. It never has, and it never will."

At this, Courfeyrac practically sagged against his friends. "Thank you," he said almost unintelligibly before turning to be sick all over the stairs.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Finally cranking this chapter out! Segue prior to chaos.  
_

_Insanemistosingmore: Glad I was able to do that for you_

_Mlle. Patria: It really is difficult sometimes to strike the balance between "man" and "ideal", particularly for Enjolras. I'm glad this is coming across._

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: Thanks! Though I suppose my Courfeyrac figment isn't as grateful for making him imbibe so much to the point of illness._

_Eponine Thenardier: Unfortunately for Courfeyrac, I implied that Paulette is one of his more casual involvements, and he probably wouldn't tell her of his revolutionary side if he was just going to love her for a short time. And Paulette isn't exactly as sharp as Claudine or any of the other girls here. Poor her. _

**Acquaintance with Responsibility (VIII)**

The first thing that Courfeyrac became aware of upon returning to the realm of consciousness was the all-too familiar sensation of something hammering within his skull. "_What was I drinking last night?" _he wondered as he forced himself to open his eyes. He realized that he was lying facedown on his bed, with his head strategically located near a basin. He noted with relief that someone had closed the shutters of his room, thus sparing him the usual discomfort that light added to his hangovers.

"How are you feeling, Courfeyrac?" Combeferre asked from nearby. He looked a little haggard, as if he had slept little, but was otherwise his usual purposeful, contained self. He had on his coat and hat, as if he was just about to leave.

"Like I have a cancan dancing on my skull," Courfeyrac said hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, didn't you notice that Enjolras and I were here all night?" Combeferre replied candidly. "Someone had to make sure you would manage. Besides, I'm heading to the printer's to get the newspaper."

"Where's Enjolras?"

"Off at a meeting with some of the other groups, remember?"

Courfeyrac nodded as the memories of last night began returning to him through his mental haze. "I'll meet you at Picpus later then?" he asked.

Combeferre paused reflectively before nodding. "I know you'd like to go as well to help me, but it wouldn't do good to have two of us risking our safety as opposed to just one," he said. "Besides I already have Claudine helping me."

Courfeyrac sighed before making a salute to his friend. "Best of luck to you then. Don't get into any fights with the gendarmes."

"I trust Claudine to shout them down for me," Combeferre grinned just as someone knocked on the door. "Now who could that be?"

Courfeyrac groaned as he got to his feet. "Go away Madame! I am sorry for the disturbance!" he called.

"It's me, Paulette! Not your concierge!" a female voice replied.

"_Now what could this be?" _Courfeyrac wondered as he hastily draped his cravat around his neck and pulled on a coat he had thrown over his lone chair. He ambled over to the door and opened it. "Good morning Paulette," he greeted.

"How have you been Maurice?" she asked tersely. Her lips were taut and her fingers looked as if she had been picking at them.

"Not very well, can't you see?" Courfeyrac replied. "What is the matter?"

"I may as well say it even if your friend is here," Paulette said, nodding curtly to acknowledge Combeferre's presence. "Monsieur Drouet was arrested last night."

This bit of information was enough to bring Courfeyrac completely to his senses. "What? Who told you?" he asked, seizing her hand and pulling her into the apartment.

Paulette squeezed his fingers as she sat down on a chair. "I heard from one of the girls at the shop where I was. She mentioned it when I saw her this morning while I was getting my bread," she said. "She and her student were passing at the Rue des Macons when they saw the entire thing. Apparently some inspector there heard him talking to one of the men on the police watch-list. Well that student who saw it is a friend of yours, so to speak. Or rather, a friend of a friend."

"Who is this friend of a friend?" Combeferre asked Paulette urgently.

"Monsieur Roussel. He's at the medical school," Paulette replied, letting go of Courfeyrac's hand. "You know him, Monsieur Combeferre?"

Combeferre nodded, clearly recognizing the name. "You may want to lay low, Courfeyrac. Stay on the east side, or perhaps someplace less conspicuous," he advised.

"Citizen Drouet will keep his mouth shut. On his word as a lawyer. There is no danger for me," Courfeyrac said adamantly. Inasmuch as this news scared him, he still believed that the only way to fight the police repression was not to turn tail and cower, but to make an open show of force.

"Your name is on the payroll. They may come soon enough," Paulette insisted.

"_May as well mention my other secret," _Courfeyrac decided. "I gave a false address on that payroll, as per M. Drouet's direction," he said more brightly. "They will be searching for me someplace in the area of the Temple and not here."

Paulette's hands flew to her mouth while Combeferre smiled wryly. "Still, let's just hope that no one has been shadowing you," the doctor said. "You don't keep anything particularly dangerous around here?"

"Cartridges." Courfeyrac replied, gesturing to a hat box in a corner.

"We can bury them someplace," Paulette suggested.

"That might spoil the powder," Courfeyrac pointed out. "Wait, there's a hole in the ceiling. Paulette my dear, may I borrow your chair-or rather can Combeferre borrow it so he can stand on it?"

"And I was wondering why you insisted on this apartment. The rent is too low for you," Paulette said, getting up so that the men could push the chair directly under the aperture that Courfeyrac had indicated. She pulled the hat box out from the corner and handed it to Combeferre. With some difficulty, they managed to conceal the incriminating receptacle, as well as adorn Combeferre's hair with some cobwebs.

"That should do it, for now," Combeferre said as he dusted off his hair. "Still, you should do something else for your safety, Courfeyrac. Go out for a walk with Paulette. Anything, just stay away for today till we can get more details about what happened."

"_Playing the disinterested party to get information," _Courfeyrac understood. It was a tactic that he, Enjolras, Bossuet, and other students well-versed in the law had used on behalf of friends and allies had run into trouble with the law. "Better luck with that," he said, shaking his friend's hand.

"I'll be at Picpus later if you need anything. If you like, you can go to the Palais de Justice and tell Enjolras about it, if he doesn't already know," Combeferre said before tipping his hat and walking out the door.

As Combeferre's footsteps faded on the stairs, Courfeyrac turned to Paulette. "Well where does that leave us for the rest of the day?" he asked her.

"More like where does that leave you?" she corrected. "I'm helping Mlle. Andreas in the shop at Picpus. Someone has to keep the front while she does that business with M. Combeferre in the back."

"_Saucy girl," _Courfeyrac thought with a smirk at this double entrende. "Maybe I can find other friends to commiserate with, then I'll meet you for lunch," he said.

Paulette nodded. "That will do," she said with a smile. One of her hands went to her rounded stomach. "And I think the little one likes the idea too."

At this, Courfeyrac found he could return Paulette's smile. For reasons he could not explain, this little talk buoyed his spirits for the rest of the morning, despite the return of his headache not long after his mistress' departure.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Finally, an update. Marius and Eponine make appearances here. Oh, and something awful happens to Enjolras at this point. Ever hear of a cabinet noir? Well, Enjolras is about to find out. This is just to wrap up the newspaper subplot. More to come still.  
_

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: It's going to get better for Courfeyrac and the rest, at least till Christmas 1831. Then of course, 1832 rolls around. _

_Col. Despard: Thanks! The cancan thing was just out of the blue for me, since I figured that of the Amis, Courfeyrac would be the most interested in watching a cancan. I had no idea it was historically accurate. _

_Insanemistosingmore: Yes, poor M. Drouet. At least he lives, which is more than I can say for Courfeyrac…_

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (IX)**

"Arrested for _conspiracy? _What will they think of next? Can't one man talk to another without risking a stay in La Force?"

Enjolras only shrugged grimly at the middle-aged clerk leaning on the doorway of a certain establishment near the Palais de Justice. It was mid afternoon, and he was through with his casework for the day.

"M. Drouet insists that his case should come to a hearing. I am not particularly optimistic on that count, seeing as he was caught in the act , but it is something worth standing for," Enjolras said. He discreetly reached into his bag and pulled out a rolled up copy of the newsletter. "Here's something for your study."

The rotund clerk clucked his tongue as he surveyed the contents of the front page. "At least it is good that he has friends in high places," he remarked. "Can you say the same for yourself Enjolras?"

"Even if I did, I would not want them to intercede on my behalf," Enjolras replied. The truth was that, he knew that no amount of influence, either from his father or any family connections, could possibly save him if things went awry.

After his companion had excused himself, Enjolras noticed a young man walking up in their general direction, although his eyes were fixed on the Palais de Justice. He carried several books and folios, clutching them for dear life. "_Judging by that threadbare coat, it could only be one person," _Enjolras noted as he unconsciously took a half-step forward.

Marius Pontmercy nodded to Enjolras by way of acknowledgement. After a moment though, he visibly blanched when he realized what his colleague was up to. "Should I pretend I didn't notice those?' he asked warily.

"That. Or you can take one for yourself," Enjolras offered, holding out a copy.

Marius reached out as best as he could with one hand and quickly grabbed the newsletter before stuffing it among his belongings. "Have you seen Courfeyrac by any chance?" he asked. In the light, it was evident that his collar was ragged; he was wearing his coat buttoned up to his throat even in the summer heat.

"Not since this morning," Enjolras replied. "Is something the matter?"

"I thought I'd borrow some books from him," Marius explained. "Besides he also owes me five francs."

"He might be at the Rue de la Verrerie now," the older lawyer said.

"Oh? He's no longer at the hotel?" Marius asked.

"He hasn't been there for some time now," Enjolras replied.

"_Does Pontmercy know about Courfeyrac's situation?" _Enjolras wondered. While he knew that Marius certainly counted on Courfeyrac's assistance from time to time, he also surmised that the pensive young lawyer would be an unlikely confidant for his jovial, gallant friend. "_After all, Courfeyrac did call him "Monsieur l'Abbe" once_," he recalled wryly.

It also occurred to Enjolras that although he had been acquainted with Marius for some three years now, he knew very little about the man. Now and then, he had news of Marius: he lived in a garret, approved of the revolution, passed the bar, held down a job, maintained his acquaintances, stayed away from his grandfather, and had a fancy for a certain young lady wearing black. This was all second-hand information to Enjolras; such particulars did not figure in the times he had come to Marius asking for help with some translations or trivial matters. "_If I had to write down everything I knew about him, it would hardly fill up a page," _he realized.

Still, this awkwardness did not stop Enjolras from drawing hope from Marius' apparent interest in the publication. "You are always free to join us," he said. "I know that you weren't with us last year at the barricades, but we would still welcome your company," he added.

Marius shook his head at this suggestion. "Again, I find I cannot wholly reconcile myself to it. I know that Charles X had his failings, and it was right that he was deposed. The King now is not bad; he has virtues to speak of as a leader. Why should the people be so eager to rise against Louis-Philippe?" he replied.

"It is not the man we object to, but the throne," Enjolras pointed out calmly.

For a moment, Marius was silent, but now more in an attitude of consideration as opposed to angry impotence. Finally, he stood up straight and adjusted his hold on his books. "I had better go. I need to turn over these papers. If you need anything translated again, let me know," he said.

"I will. You won't regret it," Enjolras promised. Marius nodded to him more amiably before going his own way.

Once Marius was gone, Enjolras counted the papers again. "Six left," he murmured. It would be the work of a few minutes to distribute them. After this he planned to see how his friends were doing with their respective areas of distribution. "_And perhaps get to the bottom of the matter of M. Drouet's imprisonment," _he resolved. The fact that someone had told on the eminent lawyer was worrisome enough, not to say of the possibility that the informant also had implicated Courfeyrac, or any of the other men who were connected with the office.

He decided to take the omnibus to the west bank of the Seine, and then from there take another ride to Picpus. As soon as he alighted at the west bank, he heard someone running up. "Monsieur Enjolras!" a voice called to him.

Enjolras turned to see a thin, almost transparent workingman in a grimy cap. He recognized this face from some of his meetings with other groups. "Yes. What then?" he asked.

"My comrades want a copy, over there at the Café Varigard," the workingman said rather quickly. "They ran out earlier today."

Something about the workingman's manner struck Enjolras as being a little out of place, but he let the matter go. "Very well," he said as he followed the workingman.

The Café Varigard was some two streets away from where Enjolras had gotten off the omnibus. It was a dark, low-ceilinged establishment that had a faded signboard over the lintel of its door. The workingman entered first. "How strange! They aren't here anymore!" he said.

"Your friends?"

"They must have gone on ahead without me."

"How now?" Enjolras wondered aloud as he entered after the workingman. Before his eyes could adjust to the gloom, several pairs of hands grabbed at him and slammed him against the nearest table, knocking the wind out of him. He tried in vain to get out of this iron grip just before he felt something collide with the side of his head, and everything went black.

When Enjolras came to, the first thing he felt was drops of rain hitting his face. "_How long have I been out?" _he wondered as he willed himself to open his eyes despite his headache. Through the throbbing pain, he was still able to deduce that he was lying in some back alley, left to the mercy of a light summer drizzle. "_Just brilliant timing now," _he berated himself. He realized that his coat was gone and he was left out in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

A sudden sound from nearby alerted him. Enjolras looked around and found himself staring up at a street girl. Her reddish-brown hair was wet and hanging loose over her painfully prominent collarbones. Her blouse was tattered and her skirt was patched in some places. Most importantly, she was holding _his_ satchel.

"Well, what are you looking at, Monsieur?" she asked him snappishly in a raspy voice. "Can't a girl go someplace without her being watched?"

Enjolras slowly raised himself to a sitting position. "Citizenness, I must have that satchel. It has some things of importance to me," he said as calmly as he could. He could feel his limbs and his side also aching, probably from being too roughly searched and beaten up. In his condition, he was not so sure he could even take on this girl if she tried anything on him. Still, he was determined not to leave his important documents in the hands of this common thief.

The girl looked at him quizzically. "Citizenness? Well, now you're a funny one. You go into a _cabinet noir _and what else can you expect? You thought you could keep everything on you? What is in this anyway?" she challenged.

"Papers. Books. Nothing of concern to you," he replied.

"I can read, I'll have you know!" the girl said, moving as if to open the bag.

At this, Enjolras jumped to his feet and grabbed her wrist. The girl protested against his grip, weakened as it already was. "Citizenness, those papers, those things I have there, they may be dangerous to you," he insisted tersely. "If the police find you with them, you will get into trouble for sure."

"Well, they said I could have your bag. They have your watch and your money already," the girl said, dropping her voice in what was meant to be a coy fashion. She looked at him intently. "Is it really so important, Monsieur?"

"Very much so," Enjolras said, hoping he did not sound as if he was pleading.

"I can give you what is inside the bag, but you have to let me keep the rest," the girl offered. The rain had already ceased by this time.

Enjolras sighed deeply, knowing that there was no other way for him to recover his possessions. "Fine then," he said.

The girl opened the satchel and pulled out the various papers and books that Enjolras kept there, and shoved them into his arms. She paused when she came to the light blue coat that he kept folded up among his belongings, as a quick means of disguise whenever he moved from quarter to quarter.

"How funny! You had two coats?" she asked him. "Now you must be hiding from someone-ah, I know now what you are!"

_"If you know, you'd better not tell," _Enjolras thought. Still, he nodded as politely as he could to the girl. "Thank you for leaving me my things, Citizenness," he said.

"You forgot your coat."

"Keep it."

The girl pulled the coat out of the bag and draped it over her shoulders. "Thank you M'sieur," she said softly. She glanced embarrassedly at the bag before handing it to Enjolras. "I s'pose you can keep this then," she added before fleeing the alley.

Enjolras carefully returned the papers to his satchel before sitting back down again. His headache had acted up again. "_I'm going to have to wait for some time before I can trust my feet to move me," _he decided. It was going to be a long walk home, and in his shirtsleeves, none the less.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Real life and my muse finally cooperated. There is something here that is a reference to a drawing by PureDiamondLight. Thanks to MmeBahorel for the important facts she shared about some of the Napoleonic code and inheritance matters. This is a little serious compared to the rest of the fic—a sort of segue for time passing. _

_Insanemistosingmore: That's nothing compared to what I've done to Enjolras in other fics. Poor guy suffers a lot when I write about him _

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: Yep, poor kid. The one time he is caught off his guard…_

_ColonelDespard: I was intending to subvert the trope/fandom joke that would have Enjolras spewing revolutionary rhetoric at street criminals who are intent on victimizing him. Glad I seem to have done that successfully. _

_Mlle. Verity: Yes, you guessed the identity of the thief. Though I assumed that Enjolras would be a little unwilling to do violence to a girl, never mind if she was robbing him. Disdainful towards women, yes. Violent, I highly doubt. _

**Acquaintance with Responsibility (X)**

"You could say it is the way of the world. First fortune, then misfortune. If the former always reigned, you could say we were in Utopia."

"That, or we have won the revolution."

Enjolras shrugged philosophically at his friend. "That's dangerous talk, Courferyac, even here in the Fauborg Saint-Antoine."

Courfeyrac merely smiled wryly as he looked up from the page he had been copying. "I can't think of any place that's safer. After what nearly happened to me following M. Drouet's arrest, the only thing I could do was to hide in plain sight of the regime." He dashed off a few more lines before blowing on the paper to let the ink dry. The late afternoon light was starting to dim, and soon it would be time for him to leave the printers' shop where he was now working.

"A good move, I should think. It's already November and so far you've escaped detection," Enjolras observed.

"Especially after the latest emeute."

"I called you off on that, but you insisted on going all the same," Enjolras pointed out.

"It's almost the same as what you did on the day M. Drouet was arrested. Going into a _cabinet noir_ all alone, and nearly losing your papers," Courfeyrac replied. "If those men had been police spies instead of thieves, where would we be now?"

"I will readily admit that was a mistake on my part," Enjolras said calmly. "Speaking of M. Drouet, his trial went well. It was a good thing that he insisted on being able to appear in court, or it would have been the end of the matter."

"But you're a marked man now, Enjolras," Courfeyrac said. "Defending a man accused of working with republicans—now the courts know where your sympathies lie."

"Which is why I hope to never be a defendant," Enjolras replied candidly. "Have you gotten any mail lately by the way?"

"From Gascony?"

"Well, where else?"

The younger man bit his lip as he came to the end of another line of text. "I have made it a point not to burden my family so much with my misadventures." He shook his head as an image came to mind of M. de Courfeyrac looking red-faced and on the point of apoplexy as he clutched a letter. At some point, he realized, his parents were going to hear of what he had been up to in Paris. "But what will they hear of first, my child or the emeute?" he wondered silently.

"I have some news from Aix," Enjolras said in an undertone. "A pot has gone to boil there, apparently."

"Over a slow or fast flame?"

"Slow, but building up.

"While here, we are on a powder keg," Courfeyrac replied. He stretched before getting to his feet. He dusted off his coat. "We're meeting at Corinth tonight?"

"As per Feuilly's suggestion," Enjolras replied. "It is better considering that there has been another workers' strike recently, and the Halles is sure to be full of people with news and willing to share them."

Courfeyrac grinned, understanding the significance of this fact. "I hope that Paulette can leave some food out for me when I return to my lodgings," he mused as they left the printer's shop and headed out into the narrow street.

"You have been living together?" Enjolras asked querulously.

"To save on rent."

Enjolras nodded. "And when does Paulette say the child will be born?"

"By New year at the latest."

Enjolras put a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "I hope you do not take this wrongly, or think ill of what I will have to say," he began more seriously. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you want to fight and you believe most ardently in our cause. However I believe it would be better for you, and Paulette, and your child, if-"

"Enjolras, I don't want to hear it," Courfeyrac said, already knowing what his friend was going to say. The possibility had always weighed on him, more so from the day he had discussed such matters with Combeferre at the Musain. Yet to hear it again with such finality, coming no less from Enjolras, that was more than Courfeyrac could bear.

"You need to understand," Enjolras said firmly. "It would be selfish if you went to fight without leaving any provision for those in your care."

"I fight for their sake too!" Courfeyrac retorted, shaking Enjolras' hand off. "I wanted to speak with you about that last fact, in particular."

One of Enjolras' blond eyebrows shot up. "What can I do for you then?"

"You have to help me make a will," Courfeyrac replied. He nearly burst out laughing at the incredulous look that came on Enjolras' face. "It's the best I can do. Even if I don't have Bossuet's luck, there's no telling if something other than an emeute will prove to be the end of me. Besides I do, as you just said, have to leave provisions."

"I understand that. But a will…" Enjolras said. "Your parents, I imagine, will know nothing of this?"

"No more than they know of what I have been doing when I am not at the law school," Courfeyrac replied more brightly. "I have some shares at a bank, which I got from what I managed to keep from my wages and selling my things."

"And you will need the papers to ensure that they will go to your child. I understand," Enjolras said. "I'll help you draw it up tomorrow then."

Courfeyrac sighed with relief. "Do you suppose we'll be allowed back in the Musain any time within this week?" he asked, eager to turn towards lighter matters.

Enjolras snorted. "After that display two nights ago, no. I still cannot believe that Combeferre allowed Bahorel to do such a thing to Prouvaire." He looked sternly at Courfeyrac. "And I heard it was you who bought the absinthe that they gave him?"

"The wine that was left was quite atrocious. I wasn't going to allow anyone to ingest that, for fear of our lives," Courfeyrac argued.

"And you chose absinthe, even after you've seen what it does to Grantaire?" Enjolras said. "Honestly, I expected better of you."

"In the name of science," Courfeyrac said before realizing that Enjolras still looked rather put out. "So it ended badly, and I am sorry for it. Still, if you had been there, as in actually there in the backroom when it happened, you might have found it funny."

"If I had been there, I suppose I wouldn't have to explain to Louison why some of the glasses are broken, and I wouldn't have had to spend my time tending to Combeferre's headache," Enjolras replied. He grimaced at the thought. "Combeferre is quite bearish when he's feeling unwell in the mornings."

"I'd prefer him to Prouvaire. Anyway, I am sure that Bahorel cared for him well enough," Courfeyrac said.

"I hope so. Let's not speak of that when we arrive at Corinth."

"I wasn't planning to," Courfeyrac assured Enjolras. At any rate, it was unlikely that any of his friends would want to discuss this incident in front of the other members of the Amis del'ABC.

As the two young men walked on the Rue Saint-Denis, they saw the tell-tale silhouettes of two women chatting to each other on the steps of a closed up shop. "What are they doing here?" Enjolras wondered aloud.

"It must be serious," Courfeyrac said, walking ahead of his friend. "Good evening Paulette, Citoyenne Andreas."

"Same to you," Claudine replied first. "You're going to meet with your friends tonight?"

"In due time," Enjolras said as he joined them. "What are you doing here? You're rather far from Picpus."

"She's seeing that I get home safely," Paulette volunteered.

"That," Claudine said. "And a message for Francois too, from the medical school," she added, unpinning a letter from her shawl and handing it to Enjolras.

"Many thanks, Citoyenne," Enjolras said. He glanced at Courfeyrac. "So I see that you'll accompany Citoyenne Vigny first?" he said.

"_As if I had any choice!"_ Courfeyrac thought even as he nodded by way of reply. He let Paulette take his arm as they headed towards the Rue de la Verrerie.

"Maurice, how long are you going to keep doing this?" she asked once they were out of earshot.

"Doing what?" Courfeyrac replied, feigning innocence.

"You're a student by day, you work after, and by night…" Paulette began before taking a deep breath to regain her composure. "You don't know how afraid I am, wondering if one night you just won't come home!"

Home. The word suddenly sounded so heavy to Courfeyrac's ears. "Is this what it's all coming to?" he thought with bewilderment. It was one thing to prepare to support his mistress and their child. To consider the entire arrangement as _home_, that was another thing entirely.

"You're not the only one who does that, Paulette," he said half-heartedly. It was the only thing he could think of in that situation.

"It's different," Paulette insisted. "I don't know what the mistresses of your friends feel for them. With me, it's different. I don't know if you know, Maurice, but I love you."

On hearing this, Courfeyrac stopped dead in his tracks. "_Love me? What on earth could she gain by that?" _he thought in a panic. In any other time perhaps, he might have been more than pleased to hear these words. "_But after what I just foisted on this poor girl, this sounds a little wrong," _he knew. Up until that moment, he had been under the impression that what he and Paulette had was something of an obligatory arrangement, a way of owning up to the consequences of their short dalliance.

It wasn't as if he didn't care for Paulette on some level, he decided. "_But there's just no way this can work as a proper love affair,"_ he told himself. He knew love when he saw it; hadn't he seen almost all his friends, Marius included, caught up in daydreams and promises? This, however, was different. "_Then there are the upcoming plans, the revolution…" _

"Maurice? Don't you love me too?" Paulette asked him intently.

Courfeyrac took both of her hands in his and kissed them. "I care for you deeply," he said truthfully. "I'm willing to help you in any way I can."

"In any way except marrying me, you mean," she said. "Don't think I'm a fool. I know that you have no plans of marrying me. And why should you? And why should I hope to marry you? You're from a good family in the Midi. Me? I'm just a peasant's daughter from Rouen. The name de Courfeyrac doesn't exactly go well with mine."

"And yet you're willing to concede to our arrangement?" Courfeyrac questioned. "You know what the neighbors will have to say about that."

"They've already been talking," Paulette said. "Does it matter to me? I will tell you another reason that I worry. Even if I didn't love you, there's our child. Since I'm not married to you, what will happen if you're suddenly killed or…"

"I'm already fixing that matter," Courfeyrac said reassuringly. "After our child is born, I'll give you a paper that will ensure that you'll still have something, regardless of what happens."

Paulette shivered as a breeze picked up "Claudine and I saw some gendarmes taking another man in for questioning. Like they did to M. Drouet. I'm always afraid that it will be you next."

"I'll make sure to be careful when it comes to that," Courfeyrac said, putting his arm around her, knowing that this was among the few comforts still left for him to give.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: While my muse is still here…may as well write. Bits about French family law are here, thanks to some help from MmeBahorel. :D_

_ColonelDespard: Thanks! I really have a lot of fun writing Enjolras, more so when I discard the fanon tropes about him. _

_Insanemistosingmore: It had to happen some time :D_

_Eponine Thenardier: Yes, I am not letting that muse go for a few more days_

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: Courfeyrac does live to see some good things happening in his life. Soon enough :D Of course that's not going to last. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (XI)**

"_The problem is not in getting the proper words or forms, but writing them down legibly_," Enjolras thought as he dipped his pen in the inkwell on his desk. He frowned when a large blot appeared where a letter should have been. "One day, someone should invent a machine that makes the task of copying easier," he muttered as he reached for a fresh sheet of paper.

"Maybe that should be one of Combeferre's future projects," Courfeyrac quipped as he lit a candle. A light rain was beginning to fall outside, further deadening whatever light still came through the early evening twilight. Fortunately for the Amis del'ABC, there was no meeting scheduled for that night.

Enjolras smiled ruefully as he tried once again to make a clean copy of Courfeyrac's will. "You're going to have to send a letter to a lawyer at home informing them about this document," he informed his friend. "Otherwise, Citoyenne Vigny and your child may not be able to claim the shares you set aside for them."

Courfeyrac buried his head in his hands as he sat down on the one unoccupied chair in the room. "I was hoping to avoid that," he groaned. "Isn't registering the child's birth here in Paris already enough?"

"No. You will need someone to be your eyes at home," Enjolras pointed out. "Especially if you should persist in risking your life," he wanted to say, but he thought the better of it.

Courfeyrac sighed dramatically. In the dim light, his face seemed more drawn and worn out than it ever had been. "Paulette thinks that it would be a good idea if our arrangement persisted. I cannot comprehend why she would want that," he confessed. "I mean, me, a family man and father. That is not what Maurice Courfeyrac was created for!"

"_Now is not the time to remind him of what parents have to do in the context of a Republic," _Enjolras thought as he continued his work. Just as he reached the very end of the document, he heard a knock on the door.

"Enjolras? Are you there?" Combeferre called from outside.

"The door is unlocked," Enjolras replied, carefully setting the will aside for Courfeyrac to sign.

"Well Courfeyrac! This is a surprise," Prouvaire greeted cheerily as he and Combeferre entered the room.

Enjolras turned to face his friends. He saw Prouvaire lock the door and lean against it, as part of a precaution they had been taking when meeting in any places other than Corinth or the Musain. Both newcomers looked as if they had walked most of the way, judging by the state of Combeferre's long coat and Prouvaire's rather bedecked boots.

"So what happened today?" Enjolras asked Combeferre tentatively. He had passed on the note to his friend without reading it, lest he come across some confidential matter. However Combeferre had told him something about 'potential onlookers' in the medical school, but without hinting who these elements may be.

"I asked at the medical school and among some intern friends of mine. It seems as if some of the patients admitted to the hospitals are agents—there mainly to find out if the hospital is treating any suspicious characters," Combeferre said as he sat on the edge of Enjolras' bed. "Apparently one of the spies caught a friend mentioning something to Bayard, and that was how the matter nearly came to a head."

Enjolras took a deep breath to contain his dismay. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"Two nights ago."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "These spies are getting more and more creative," he said.

"They should be. They've been frightened with the recent uproar," Prouvaire said. "Only those with cause to fear run from the seraphim," he observed more quietly.

Enjolras caught himself smiling at this quip. "I suppose this means we will have to tread carefully and try to stay out of the hospitals. Though of course, the medical school can still be relied on?" he asked.

"Very much so," Combeferre said more lightly.

"And I stopped by Citizen Fabre's place; he's been talking with some of the stevedores and they are turning," Prouvaire grinned.

Before anyone could comment on this, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard in the hallway. "Enjolras! It's me, Feuilly!" a familiar voice hissed urgently.

Prouvaire quickly unlocked the door and opened it. "What's going on?" he asked the clearly out of breath fanmaker.

Feuilly grabbed onto Prouvaire's shoulder. "There's an inspector with some gendarmes headed this way. They're knocking on doors, and they have a list with them."

This was enough for everyone to suddenly be on their feet. Enjolras quickly threw open his closet door and brought out his carbine, as well as the valise he had prepared there for such emergencies. He climbed up to where he kept some important papers and stashed them in the lining of the case. Meanwhile, Combeferre raced out of the room in order to hurriedly pack up in his own quarters. Prouvaire ducked out moments after, clearly intent on assisting him.

Enjolras turned to look at Courfeyrac, who was busy extricating the pistols concealed in the desk. "Go now. Take the will with you," he said firmly.

"Enjolras—" the younger man protested.

"Please, for your sake. Feuilly and I can take care of this," Enjolras said, touching Courfeyrac's shoulder. With each passing second, he knew that Courfeyrac's chances of returning safely to the Rue de la Verrerie were diminishing. "It's important that you leave this place safely."

"What if you're caught?" Courfeyrac asked.

"I don't know, but my being caught doesn't mean you should risk your life in the process," Enjolras said more urgently as he went to retrieve the bullet mold he had hidden in his mattress. "Go now, there's a back door downstairs you can use."

"Enjolras, one more thing—the will lacks one signature," Courfeyrac said.

Feuilly had been listening to all of this while concealing the pistols in his clothes. "I'll sign it as a witness," he replied.

"Thank you Feuilly," Courfeyrac said as Feuilly handed the document to him. He blew on the ink to make it dry faster. "Saved by literacy, who would have thought?"

"We've got to go _now_!" Feuilly said urgently as he blew out the candle and shoved Courfeyrac towards the door.

"_What I wouldn't give to still have my other coat," _Enjolras thought as he picked up the valise and the carbine before following his friends downstairs. Had he not lost that particular garment to the thief near the Café Varigard, he would not have had any difficulty concealing the controversial items he was carrying. "_As it is, I just have to risk it at least till we get a fiacre or something," _he thought as he hurried to the back door.

The back door of the house opened out to a narrow alley which after a turn or two, led out in the general direction of the Place Saint Michel. "Where are Prouvaire and Combeferre?" Courfeyrac asked as soon as he, Enjolras, and Feuilly were in the alley.

"They went out ahead of us," Enjolras said, gesturing to the now darkened window of Combeferre's room. "_Probably Combeferre will come back for his books in the morning," _he thought as they began walking in the alley. However he quickly saw what appeared to be a whole group of gendarmes walking up to the door of the building.

Feuilly swore as he flattened himself against a wall. "What to do now?"

Enjolras looked around for anything that could help conceal them. In the half-light, he noticed a bunch of dirty and abandoned crates. "Get inside those," he said quickly.

Feuilly and Courfeyrac lost no time in hiding under two of the larger crates. Enjolras resorted to ducking behind a stack of smaller boxes. All the while he was listening to the concierge's indignant insistence that "she was not housing any insurgents." He cringed when he heard the gendarmes walk upstairs, but fortunately he did not hear the tell-tale crash of doors being forced open.

At long last, he heard the police leaving the premises. "I think my arms have just gone stiff," Courfeyrac complained as they crawled out of their hiding place. "Good thing that rheumatism does not set in at our age," he added.

"Let that be a lesson to you," Enjolras said. "It was a good thing they didn't think to search out here."

Feuilly nodded as he put his hands in his pockets. "I suppose you'll want to find Combeferre and Prouvaire?"

"No, I know where they have gone to—and it's not to Picpus," Enjolras said. Fortunately Prouvaire's friends among the Masons had been more than willing to assist the young poet and any friends of his during such contingencies.

"We can go to the Rue de la Verrerie," Courfeyrac offered.

"That could be a good idea," Feuilly said. "Enjolras?"

For a moment, Enjolras was about to voice his objections along the grounds that going to Courfeyrac's lodgings was a way to attract the police to the area. However he also saw the earnestness in Courfeyrac's manner, almost as if he was eager to repay the favors that his friends had been doing for him all this time.

The young lawyer took a deep breath. "Very well then. Just for one night, and I'll find my permanent lodgings in the morning," he conceded. After all, he decided, everyone deserved to do a good turn for others every now and then, even if a little peril could be involved.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Here it goes, a long awaited event_

_Mamzelle Combeferre: Yes, they have to watch out. Good thing that these boys are somehow smart enough to evade *most* disasters._

_Insanemistosingmore: A little foreshadowing, yes. However things do get better for Courfeyrac, just for a short while_

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (XII)**

In the days following the raid on Enjolras' and Combeferre's lodgings, the Amis del'ABC moved about with a certain degree of trepidation and secrecy. For about a week, only the most daring of the members showed up at Corinth or at the Musain. However as November fled and December arrived, the boldness of these young men returned, and meetings became frequent once again.

As for Courfeyrac, he never spoke of his misadventure to Paulette, but he was sure that she had guessed the entire matter judging by her endless inquires and fussing over him. Fortunately for him, it wasn't long till his mistress' worries revolved around ensuring that she would have enough clothes and other sundry necessary for the infant who was soon to arrive.

"It's a good thing that Paulette still has some friends who were willing to help her with the clothes and blankets. She wanted to get a cradle too, but I asked her where she planned to put it," Courfeyrac said one morning as he and Prouvaire were on their way to their classes.

Prouvaire smiled before adjusting his outrageously plumed hat, which seemed to be more ornamental rather than a safeguard against the bracingly chilly weather. "Have you picked out names yet?" he asked.

"Armand for a boy and Dominique for a girl," Courfeyrac replied. "Dominique is the name of my favorite aunt, while Armand is the name of Paulette's deceased brother."

"A charming memorial," Prouvaire said reflectively.

"Personally, I fancy the name Juliette, but that's the name of a former mistress of mine," Courfeyrac confessed. He frowned as a bit of mud splattered over his just-shined boots. "It wouldn't do good to torture the poor girl that way."

"You mean Paulette or your daughter?" Prouvaire asked.

"Both," Courfeyrac replied. Just as they rounded a corner, he caught sight of a painfully thin waif looking around as she leaned against a wall. She was wearing an abnormally large light blue coat over a tattered blouse and skirt.

"M'sieurs? Would you know a Monsieur Maurice Courfeyrac?" the street-girl asked.

"You can call me that," Courfeyrac replied.

The waif approached him quickly. "It's a message from a lady, Mamselle Paulette from the cloth seller at Picpus. She told me to tell you that the little one is coming," she said in a raspy voice.

It was as if Courfeyrac had received a dash of cold water to his face. "The little one…the baby is going to be born?" he repeated incredulously.

"So she said, M'sieur," the girl said.

"Where is she? Is she still at Picpus?" Courfeyrac asked.

"That's where I saw her."

Hurriedly, the young man dug into his pockets for a five-franc piece. He handed this to the waif. "Thank you for telling me, Mademoiselle," he said. The girl smiled crookedly at him before running off in the general direction of the Boulevard l'Hospital.

He turned towards Prouvaire. "Now shall I be a student or a father today?" he asked.

"Courfeyrac, choose the nobler office!" Prouvaire said. "I don't think you'll be missed at your lecture anyway, and if you are, Bossuet would probably distract the professor so that he will have no time to devise a punishment for you."

"I know. I suppose you should tell the Amis that I won't be at the meeting tonight," Courfeyrac said.

"Speaking of which, I could have sworn that the girl was wearing Enjolras' coat, the one I gave to him because he kept borrowing it for disguises," Prouvaire observed. He gave Courfeyrac a playful shove. "You'd better go now."

"_This will not be a good day," _Courfeyrac thought ruefully as he hurried away towards Picpus. He could not dismiss that sense of apprehension rising up in him with each step he took. All that he knew about births and children was taken mainly from indiscreet conversations at home, or the occasional tidbit he'd learned from listening to Combeferre and Joly poring over their lessons.

No one was at the front room of the shop when he arrived there. Courfeyrac felt his heart hammering in his throat as he raced to the back door and knocked loudly. "Paulette! Claudine!" he shouted.

At long last the door was flung open to reveal a very harried-looking Combeferre. "About time you got here, Courfeyrac," the doctor greeted. He was in his shirtsleeves, having discarded his coat and overcoat someplace within the premises.

"How is she?" Courfeyrac asked as he stepped inside the backroom. He deduced that at the onset of the situation, Claudine had immediately sent for Combeferre to attend to Paulette. Which, as he reflected, was something he would have thought of doing himself.

"Doing well," Combeferre replied. "I do believe we will be here for a very long time though," he added just as a muffled cry of pain came from upstairs.

Courfeyrac winced at this sound. "_I suppose that's the end of any nights we'll have together," _he thought. While the more pragmatic side of him was a little happy at the possibility of reclaiming his bed for himself, his more gallant and romantic instincts berated him for being the cause, however indirect, of a woman's agony.

Combeferre just managed to keep a straight face at Courfeyrac's reaction. "That's not even the worst of it, I'm afraid," he said.

Courfeyrac groaned, once again not particularly eager to find himself at the end of a friend's brutal honesty. "_I get enough of this with Enjolras; how he and Combeferre endure each other is beyond me now," _he thought. He glanced upwards again. "Is there anything I can do for her now?" he asked.

"Some men simply sit outside and pray, but in your case, I think you'd be better off simply fetching some blankets and clothes for the child," the ever-pragmatic Combeferre said.

At that moment, Courfeyrac was thankful that he hadn't gone to the trouble of taking off his overcoat. "If Paulette asks, I'll be back soon," he told his friend before bolting right out the door.

If Courfeyrac could have seen himself as he boarded an omnibus, or even as he ran up the stairs to his room at the Rue de la Verrerie, he would have seen that his hair was quite out of sorts, his hat just a little out of shape, and that the rest of his attire needed some ironing. On any other day, he might have been appalled at such a state of affairs. However the only thing that filled his mind was the absolute necessity of gathering the things Paulette would need, and of returning to Picpus as soon as possible.

On his way back, as he waited to catch another omnibus to bring him through the Latin Quarter, he caught sight of a familiar figure also standing at the sidewalk. "_Wonder if I should tell him what Prouvaire thinks happened to his coat," _Courfeyrac thought.

Enjolras nodded to him first by way of greeting. "Shouldn't you be at the law school?" he asked candidly.

Courfeyrac shook his head. "I have to see to Paulette," he replied, indicating the small bag he had with him in addition to his school things. "The child is coming today," he added.

"My congratulations to you both in advance," Enjolras said with a smile. "Who's attending her?"

"Combeferre and Mlle. Andreas," Courfeyrac said. "I know that Paulette is in good hands but I am still frightened for her," he admitted in a low voice.

"You won't be the first father to worry," Enjolras said much more seriously. "I know my father did when I was born."

Courfeyrac swallowed hard at this, remembering having heard that his friend's mother had died in childbirth. "How did he care for you after, you know…" he began.

"After my mother passed?" Enjolras finished. "One of my aunts took charge of caring for me, for some time. However before I was a year old my father decided that he would devote most of his energy to raising me."

Courfeyrac did not say anything as they boarded the omnibus. "_If there is a God, or a Supreme Being, I hope he is so kind and merciful to please allow Paulette to live," _he thought desperately.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked Enjolras, "Where are you going?"

"To a certain café, to spy on a mistress," Enjolras deadpanned.

Courfeyrac nodded, understanding the meaning of this phrase. "_It's bold of him to meet with other leaders, even when the police have been watching," _he realized. Now that he thought about it, inasmuch as he had difficulties with his own very attached situation, he wasn't sure that he preferred Enjolras' circumstances either. "_Free as he is, he is still always in danger, and always a little pensive," _he observed.

At length, Enjolras touched Courfeyrac's shoulder. "Have faith. It will turn out for the best," he said reassuringly.

"Thank you," Courfeyrac said. He would have hugged Enjolras for it, but the circumstances were a bit too public for such a display of gratitude. He felt a little better though as he continued his journey back to Picpus.

This time, he was happy to find that Combeferre had left the back door unlocked. As quickly as he could, Courfeyrac ran upstairs and found himself standing in a narrow hallway with only two doors. Before he could knock on one of them, the leftmost door opened and Claudine peered out. "Right on time again," she said a little wearily.

"How is she doing?" Courfeyrac asked. "And I brought clothes for the child, and a few extra blankets…"

"Maurice? If that's you, I'm telling you, I'm not letting you near me _again_!" Paulette's voice called from inside. "You heard me?"

Claudine rolled her eyes as she took the bag that Courfeyrac handed to her. "She's been that way for some time. Trust me, she'll be happy to see you when this is over."

"When will that be?" the young man asked just before Paulette screamed again.

"Not much longer now," Claudine said. "There's some coffee and bread downstairs for you if you like. Combeferre will call you when you can come inside," she added before shutting the door.

Courfeyrac wandered back downstairs towards the kitchen located near the shop's backroom. He sighed deeply as he dropped his satchel on the table. He attempted to do some reading, but after a few pages he found he simply could not continue. "What I wouldn't give for some brandy at the moment," he muttered as he looked around the kitchen. Unfortunately there wasn't anything to take his mind off the cries of pain coming from upstairs, or his own harried mental condition. He fished in his pocket for his watch, only to find that he had forgotten to wind it the night before.

He didn't remember when he'd dozed off, or even what had caused him to wake up. As he ran his hand through his hair and retied his cravat heard a loud shriek, followed by the higher-pitched wail of a child. Courfeyrac got up from his chair and hurried back upstairs, taking two steps at a time.

After a while, the door opened again. "How are they?" Courfeyrac asked Combeferre anxiously.

"They are," Combeferre grinned at his friend. "Everything went well. You've got a fine and healthy son."

"And he looks a bit like you, Paulette insists," Claudine chimed in from inside the room.

A son! Courfeyrac felt a little light-headed with disbelief even as he managed to walk confidently into the room. Paulette was sitting up in bed, with her hair still uncombed and dragging about her face. However she was positively beaming as she tended to the child in her arms, and Courfeyrac knew that he would be forgiven soon enough.

"Come here. Take a look," Paulette said hoarsely, smiling now at Courfeyrac. "He's so small and so perfect."

Courfeyrac felt his breath catch in his throat as he sat down at Paulette's bedside, and caught his first glimpse of his son. The infant's face was still red, but his hazel eyes were bright and alert. "_The same color as mine," _Courfeyrac realized.

"So what are you going to name him?" Combeferre asked.

"Armand. It's a good name for him," Paulette said. "You want to hold him, Maurice?" she asked Courfeyrac.

Despite his initial apprehension, Courfeyrac found himself nodding. The child initially yelled in protest when he was transferred to his father's arms, but he calmed down after a few moments.

"He's definitely a Courfeyrac, but I don't know about a _de_ Courfeyrac," Courfeyrac remarked lightly. Inasmuch as he felt that it was his responsibility to protect this little child in his arms, he was pretty sure that not all the members of his family would take to this new addition as well as he had.

"Does it matter?" Paulette asked.

Courfeyrac glanced at her tired but radiant face. "Not to me at least," he whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Story is winding down…there aren't many chapters after this. This is part of the segue to the final crisis...  
_

_Mam'zelle Combeferre: I hope I don't disappoint with the final chapters then; they're meant to be a little more emotional than that. _

_Insanemistosingmore: Adorable indeed. That was the cutest chapter yet. _

_ColonelDespard: I actually based some aspects of the boys' early escape from stories that my mother and my teachers told me about their days as activists versus the Marcos regime (1970s to 1986). I'm glad that you like how my portrayal of Enjolras has been. And yes, I am glad that there is another little Courfeyrac on this scene now. _

_Eponine Thenardier: I am attached to Armand too. I have considered doing something awful to Paulette too. I suppose she is clingy because of all the hell Courfeyrac puts her through (it's not easy being mistress to a man who loves life and Romanticism to the point of physical endangerment), and also because she is a mother, first and foremost. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (XIII)**

Once the winter snows had finally thawed, it seemed as if the fever seizing Paris and some other areas had only heightened. Riots were becoming more and more frequent, and it sometimes seemed as if the very wind whispered "revolution" into the ears of the populace.

Early in April 1832, Enjolras had taken a short trip to Lyon in order to meet with some leaders of certain groups. On the night he concluded this mission, he returned to his lodgings only to find a note waiting for him at the doorstep, clearly left there by the porter. This missive was unnamed and unsigned, its only proofs of its destinations and identifications being the Occitian used for the message, as well as some additional metaphors written on the corner of the paper.

_ News from Paris: our brothers have been stricken by cholera. Those closest to you are fine, though it is all we can do to keep our calm. However there is the problem of the fever dying out far too soon for the body's health. Hopefully you will have brought a good draught with you from the south to help us with this situation. _

"What has Courfeyrac been up to all this while?" Enjolras wondered as he studied the note again. It was undeniably in his friend's handwriting; only one particular Ami had a certain flair with penning the loops of his l's and f's. The metaphors in the corner were those that Courfeyrac had devised in the past expressly for the purpose of such clandestine communications; each Ami now had his own way of making himself known to the others following the disastrous raids on M. Drouet's workplace and Enjolras' lodgings.

"_Either the others are so busy that only Courfeyrac has the time to write, or he is doing exactly as I hoped he wouldn't do," _Enjolras realized. For all his optimism and good faith, he knew that the latter explanation was more possible. Clearly, not even fatherhood could bar Courfeyrac from the work that the rest were engaged in. Enjolras wondered how he was going to discuss this matter with his friend once he returned to Paris.

Apart from the hand used to make the letter, the message itself was particularly troubling. There had been talk about the cholera in London; a few proud hearts had declared that French waters would be enough to deter that dreaded disease. Now though, it was in Paris where it was sure to kill many people, among them good men who would be needed for the upcoming revolution. "_Please, let it spare them!" _Enjolras thought as he began packing up for his trip. He worried for everyone, but most of all for Combeferre and Joly, who would probably be spending most of their time at the hospitals tending to the ill and the dying.

This grave thought was on his mind all the way back to Paris. True, he had very important missives and names on his person, but what use would they be if the people were suffering from another burden that a revolution would have a hard time addressing? It was only when he finally came within sight of the city, and arrived at last in the region of the Barriere d'Italie, he could feel his apprehension dissipating to give way to a certain clarity of purpose. Enjolras did not bother depositing his belongings in his quarters, but instead he went straightaway to the neighborhood of Picpus with two aims in mind: to ask about Combeferre and Joly, or to confront Courfeyrac. It was likely that any one of these three men would be in the area: Combeferre still practiced at the Necker and frequented M. Andreas' place. Joly was at the Saltpetriere. As for Courfeyrac, his little family had removed to a house near the old convent for two reasons: it was closer to Paulette's place of work, and the presence of a child was not desired by the concierge of 16 Rue de la Verrerie.

As luck would have it, just as Enjolras was on the place known as the Rue Droit-Mur, he caught sight of two men walking in his direction. Although they were very much known to him, he went over cautiously, lest some spy notice his movements.

It was Bahorel who noticed him first. "Hello is that you, cousin? What brings you here?" he greeted cheerily, clamping one hand on Enjolras' shoulder.

"News from your mother," Enjolras said. It was at this point that he gave Grantaire a curt nod by way of acknowledgement. Turning back towards Bahorel, he clasped the latter's shoulder back amiably. "She wishes you would write."

"Does she now?" Bahorel grinned, clearly understanding the reference. "Doesn't she have my brothers?"

"They are occupied. The older ones most especially."

"I told them to please keep in touch. What should I do to them?"

"Leave them be. For now," Enjolras replied. It was a little bit too much to expect some of the groups in Lyon to be as committed to a revolution, especially when some of them had internal problems. Fortunately some of the other groups had been more fervent and enthusiastic regarding the developments in Paris, and were more inclined to promise their participation.

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Were you looking for someone?" he asked throatily.

"I was headed to the hospitals," Enjolras replied bluntly.

The drunkard clucked his tongue. "You sure you won't join us? We were just going to call on Courfeyrac at his second address."

"_Better to visit them when I don't have the contagion on my clothes yet," _Enjolras decided. Reluctantly, he nodded to Grantaire again. "I just have to clarify a certain matter with him," he said. "Where is everyone else?"

"Combeferre and Joly, you know already," Bahorel said, gesturing in the general direction of the hospitals. "Prouvaire has gotten himself caught up in some intrigue again within a salon; I did tell him to please stick with the Masons for this week, but he said it was an opportunity too good to pass up. Feuilly is calming the workers at his atelier; the cholera has gotten them bad and they swear their water is being poisoned. Bossuet is clearing out his personal affairs again; some relative is after him once more. As for Grantaire and I here, we have been making the rounds."

"You make it sound so medical," Enjolras mused.

"I did swear never to be a lawyer," Bahorel said cheekily. "But a friend to others, yes."

Enjolras managed a smile as they made their way towards a small house near the Rue Petit-Picpus. This house had a small but pleasant yard, where some flowers were beginning to make their appearance. Here, Courfeyrac conversed with Paulette, but his attention was at times diverted towards the chubby baby propped up on his lap.

"_Armand is growing quite fast," _Enjolras remarked to himself as he and his friends walked up to this little family group. For reasons best known to Courfeyrac and Paulette, he had been asked to be Armand's godfather. While he personally doubted the usefulness or wisdom of this decision, Enjolras could not find a good reason to refuse.

"Good afternoon to you all," Grantaire called to them.

Courfeyrac motioned for them to come closer while Paulette merely looked up in surprise. "To what do we owe this early visit?" he said to his friends cheerfully.

"Boredom and urgency," Bahorel said, gesturing first to himself and Grantaire, and then to Enjolras.

"Good enough reasons," Paulette said . "Now aren't you going to say hello to your godchild?" she asked Enjolras lightly.

Enjolras didn't bother hiding his smile as he sat down so that his face was level with Armand's wide eyes. "You're looking well, little one," he said a little awkwardly. "I'm surprised you haven't driven your father mad yet," he added. The infant cooed and looked at him before throwing out one hand in an attempt to reach for him.

Courfeyrac burst out laughing. "Enjolras, you really don't know how to deal with infants," he pointed out.

"Nor did you, till not so long ago," Enjolras retorted. Truth be told, Courfeyrac seemed to have taken quite well to fatherhood, pretty much destroying whatever bet his friends may have made about this major change. Enjolras knew that this was not merely out of a sense of obligation; while Courfeyrac and Paulette's relationship was sometimes ambivalent, the two of them clearly loved their son unconditionally.

"So how was Lyon?" Courfeyrac asked.

Enjolras paused, wondering if he should answer that question in Paulette's hearing. Normally he would have suggested going elsewhere to talk, but it was clear that Courfeyrac had no intention of leaving his mistress and his son alone. "_Besides Paulette is already privy to a number of details," _he thought.

"It was busy," he said. "I got your letter."

Courfeyrac's smile grew a little strained. "The news has been bad. It's a good thing that we haven't been struck yet. Joly has given us some things he believes will keep the contagion away, and Paulette has been careful."

"That's all well and good for you," Bahorel said. "If only we could say the same thing in the Halles or other places."

"How bad has it been?" Enjolras asked.

Paulette shuddered as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Terrible. The other day, M. Enjolras, I was talking to this pretty little girl and her mother. They're both so young, they came here all the way from Metz. The day after, I saw the little girl again, crying. Her mother had just died, when she was so healthy the day before!"

"What happened to the girl?" Grantaire wondered.

"I don't know. She's got family I heard, still in Metz. But I don't know if she'll be going back there," Paulette said. "All I'm saying is that this is a terrible time to be here. If only we could leave Paris!"

Enjolras saw Courfeyrac shake his head almost imperceptibly at this idea. "_If it was anyone but Courfeyrac, I would insist on him going immediately," _he thought. He had learned though over the past few months, that his friend effectively dismissed such suggestions, preferring to adhere to his present courses. "_What sacrifice would he make first on that terrible day?" _Enjolras wondered grimly.

"We'd go, but Maurice won't have it, yet," Paulette said resignedly. She sighed deeply before looking at Courfeyrac and Armand. "I sometimes wish you'd just end this fight so we could live happily, you know?"

"The time hasn't quite come yet," Courfeyrac pointed out.

"I can tell. What man can think of fighting with this cholera about?" Paulette wondered.

The other Amis exchanged looks. "The desperate and the committed," Bahorel answered. "Hopefully more of the latter than the former."

"There's only one way to know," Enjolras said. "We need to meet at the Musain tomorrow."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Third to the last chapter. _

_Insanemistosingmore: Yep, Armand is adorable. He'd better be, considering who his father is. _

_Eponine Thenardier: Don't worry, this is the last chapter where we see Paulette. :D_

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (XIV)**

"How could you possibly be so calm after all that's happened, Courfeyrac?"

In response to this, the student merely drained his glass of wine. "If I go running about and worrying today, I won't have a scrap of energy left by tomorrow, or the end of the week. Then where would I be?" he asked.

Joly nodded ruefully as he folded his handkerchief. "They do say that fatigue can make you more susceptible to cholera. Just like what happened to Lamarque." The bespectacled doctor looked around the now-quiet backroom. "Where will the rest of you be tomorrow?"

"Only Enjolras and Feuilly know," Courfeyrac replied as he ran his hands through his mussed up curls. "All I know is that we have to stay in sight of the others—preferably as near to the funeral cortege as possible."

"I don't like the miasmas that will certainly be in that crowd."

"But you're still going to the funeral?"

"If I feel up to it. Something's blocking up my nose."

Courfeyrac smiled sympathetically at his friend. For all their preparations, it seemed as if Monsieur the Cold was still bent on making life miserable for at least one Ami. "One of Prouvaire's friends recommended some sort of tea. It could do you good."

Joly nodded again before blowing his nose. "Musichetta will see to me. And L'aigle too, if she's unlucky."

"You'd better thank her," Courfeyrac grinned. "Bring her a tricolor rosette. I imagine it would look good on those wondrous curls of hers."

Joly smiled by way of agreement as he stretched slowly and got up. "I'm stopping by the medical school again on my way home. Are you also meeting at the Ecole Polytechnique?"

"No. I spoke with them yesterday, and they're quite busy now at any rate. It would attract suspicion if I was seen in that area again," Courfeyrac said as he got to his feet. The past few weeks had been filled with dangerous, but absolutely necessary trips to different parts in Paris in order to verify the numbers of the men who would be ready for the emeute at a moment's notice.

"_So much for the Barriere du Maine though," _Courfeyrac thought as he followed Joly out of the backroom. He still could not forget the day that Grantaire had convinced Enjolras to allow him to speak to the men at Richefu's. Judging by Enjolras' more pointed treatment of the drunkard over the following days, the venture had pretty much failed on Grantaire's account. It had only been through some last-ditch efforts on the parts of Bahorel and Combeferre that contact had been renewed with the groups in the place. He could only hope for the best as far as that matter was concerned.

Once they were out on the Rue de Gres, Joly shook Courfeyrac's hand. "Until tomorrow, at the emeute," he said before sneezing again.

"And not at the funeral?" Courfeyrac quipped.

"If my nose will let me."

Courfeyrac saluted before turning to cross the Place Saint-Michel. He knew that Joly would have to wait a few moments before taking a more circuitous route to the medical school. As for Courfeyrac, his errand was more personal, therefore he could afford to be more direct in his route.

It wasn't long till he arrived at Picpus. Although in the past he had never cared much for this antiquated part of Paris, he found now that the place held a certain charm for him. "_Perhaps it is just idyll,"_ he reminded himself. It was only here that he could imagine himself living a little quietly, removed from the other dramas of his life. "_Yet why settle for this only for myself, when it could be so much better for everyone else?" _he thought.

When he arrived, he caught sight of Paulette sweeping the hall. Her long hair was tied back by a kerchief and she was wearing her oldest dress. She nearly dropped the broom when she saw him. "Maurice! I didn't know you were coming!" she exclaimed.

"I have to be here, to see you for a while," he replied. He walked up to her and clasped her hands. "Where's Armand?"

"Sleeping," Paulette said, gesturing in the general direction of her room. She bit her lip before looking him in the eye. "I heard that Lamarque's funeral is tomorrow. I know what you're going to do."

Courfeyrac sighed, wondering how many times he would have this discussion with her. "I have to be there, Paulette. It wouldn't be right if I simply stood by while everyone else rose up for justice and the people," he said firmly.

"I wasn't going to stop you!" Paulette replied. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and smiled wryly. "I don't understand entirely why you do it, but you wouldn't be the person you are if you didn't fight in your own way."

"You aren't angry with me?"

"I don't wish to be."

The young man laughed before kissing her cheek. "When the battle is over, I will see you both." He ran his hands along her fingers. "It won't be easy. A lot of things will change, I may find myself out of work, but I will still try to help you all the same."

Paulette shrugged at this. "You sound so confident. What if…" she trailed off, as if the words were much too heavy for her to say out loud.

"If I die, you mean?" Courfeyrac finished. "I've already arranged it so that you and Armand will not go without. I gave you the papers when he was christened. All you need to do is write to my friend in Gascony, and he will help you ensure that Armand will get all that I prepared for him. In the unlikely event too that Enjolras outlives me, I think he will find himself obliged to help you."

"I know, Maurice. I can take care of myself now," Paulette replied. "It's just that, how will Armand ever know his father? I doubt I could ever tell him entirely of who you are. It wouldn't be fair to you or to him if I was going to simply keep silent."

Courfeyrac paused as he tried to collect his thoughts. While he was aware of the possibility of him dying, he had never really pondered on how he would like to be remembered. As far as he had been concerned, especially during the July Revolution, only his gravestone and some of his parents' recollections would be his remembrances if the worst should happen.

"If it comes to that, tell him that I love him, and I went out to fight for his sake. That is all he will need to know," he told her.

"Nothing more? Not of the charming man who wooed me? Or the one who was always making his friends laugh? You won't even want me to tell him of your beliefs?" Paulette asked.

"That will all depend on you," Courfeyrac replied with supreme confidence. He knew that this woman would never intentionally defame him, least of all to their son. "Now, may I see Armand for a while?"

"Of course," Paulette said, leaning the broom against the wall before wiping her hands on her skirt. She went ahead of Courfeyrac to open the door to her room. The young woman peered in and smiled. "He's just woken up."

Courfeyrac tiptoed over to the bed, where Armand lay between two pillows so he would not roll around and fall to the floor. The baby yawned for a few moments before looking at Courfeyrac and smiling in recognition. He cooed and babbled as he reached out to be carried.

"I swear he gets his charm from me," Courfeyrac said as he picked up Armand, who made a contented noise before burying his face in his father's shoulder. "_The resemblance between us is almost ridiculous," _Courfeyrac thought as he touched the baby's cheek. If there had been any lingering doubts from anyone about Armand's parentage, they were summarily dispelled by just looking at the child's face.

Paulette sat on the bed as she watched this scene. "He's awfully intelligent. He somehow knows what things are, when I hold them out in front of him."

"Where does he get that from?" Courfeyrac quipped. He looked right into Armand's face. "You know, I might not see you for a long time, my boy. I'm going to miss you. You be a good boy for your maman till then," he said softly.

Armand hiccuped before looking at Courfeyrac again. "Da-da?"

Courfeyrac looked incredulously at Armand, then at Paulette. "Did you hear that?"

"I did! Oh Maurice…" Paulette said before burying her face in her hands as if to stifle another outburst of emotion. She looked up at him with tears glistening in her eyes. "He just had to say it today, of all days!"

"_Does he know?" _Courfeyrac wondered, but he dismissed the thought. Surely a child could not be bothered with the dark turmoil around him. "I'm expected elsewhere for dinner. I must go in a while," he said. Inasmuch as he was tempted to stay there and pass the night, he knew that there were still last-minute preparations to be made.

Paulette sighed before nodding resignedly. "I don't know if I should ask you to come back, to watch your head, or to just remember this."

"You don't have to ask me anything."

"I have to thank you though. I couldn't have gone through some of this alone."

"No, it is I who should thank you, Paulette. You didn't have to do it, but you chose to, and I am glad you did not shut me out," he said, gently handing over Armand. He looked at the pair, mother and child, wanting to remember this moment in as much detail as possible.

Courfeyrac gently kissed Paulette's cheek and ruffled Armand's hair one last time. "Goodbye."


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I have to take advantage of this lag time before leaving for a job interview. _

_ColonelDespard: I also did wonder about the cholera lacking prominence in the Brick. Maybe Hugo wanted to focus on the political landscape instead? And I seem to recall other writers on Abaisse also making references to Lyon as a place of revolutionary thought, so I decided to run with that as well. _

_Mlle Patria: Thanks! (though I am sorry if you cried—my work in the fandom ought to come with a tissue warning!) I hope I can do this next chapter just as much justice. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (XV)**

It had not been a good night, at least as far as the common reckoning was concerned. Yet for Enjolras, even as he returned from his reconnaissance, only a last valiant stand was the proper ending to this turn of affairs.

He had dreaded giving the news to his comrades at the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie. There was no telling if these volunteers would flee, panic, or begin fighting among themselves once they learned that they had been abandoned by their fellow Parisians. His spirits were buoyed slightly when he listened to their murmurs, then to that lone voice defiantly proclaiming that their last act would be a protest of bodies, showing that to the end, they would not abandon the people.

"_So be it then," _Enjolras agreed silently amid the triumphant cheers that greeted this. He himself had been prepared for this outcome, almost as equally as he had been prepared to live. However there was one last business that had to be attended to before a proper last stand could be made.

"Why all?" he asked aloud, looking at the entire crowd. Surely there had to be some among them who had doubts, born not out of fear, but out of that other thing known as Life.

"All! All!" they replied.

Enjolras bit his lips, wondering how he was going to possibly convince them that it would be necessary for some of them to depart. Even as he spoke out, his eyes searched their faces. Indeed, not all of them could stay: some of these workingmen were married, at least one was supporting an orphaned sister, and perhaps another was caring for an aged parent. Then of course, there was Courfeyrac.

Enjolras touched Combeferre's shoulder, knowing that his friend was probably thinking these same things. The two of them entered the bistro where they had kept the uniforms they had taken off the National Guards earlier in the fight.

Combeferre's eyes were grave behind his spectacles as he picked up the shoulderbelts and shakos. "I do not know if we can ever choose one to live over the other," he said in a hushed whisper. "We should let them choose for themselves."

"You have a vote too," Enjolras answered. He smiled grimly at this reality; for him and Combeferre there was really no choice to be had. "If it were up to me, if I was given a chance to leave, I'd gladly give it over to one of you, to Courfeyrac most especially."

"I doubt he'd take it though," Combeferre said. "We have to go now."

Back outside, Enjolras threw the uniforms on the ground. "With this uniform, you can mingle with the ranks and escape. Here is enough for four," he told them.

His eyes found Courfeyrac, who was standing with his arms over Joly and Bossuet's shoulders. "_Please, take this chance, for your son's sake," _Enjolras pleaded silently. There was no point now in arguing with his friend in front of everyone; all he could do now was hope that Courfeyrac would seize this opportunity to leave. It would not be selfishness, especially at this particular moment. However he was only met with a look of quiet certainty, the sort that could only come from a man who had thrown his lot in whole-heartedly.

Yet even as Combeferre began to speak about the need for the men to return to their families, Enjolras could see that Courfeyrac made no move. The student only smiled at Feuilly when the latter nudged his ribs, or shrugged at a query from Bossuet. It was all that Enjolras could do not to jump down from where he stood on the barricade in order to reason with him.

His only recourse was to call for a vote, to ask the men to choose who deserved to leave. "_Courfeyrac is not the only man in a precarious position," _Enjolras reminded himself as he watched the proceedings.

At last, several men stepped out of the ranks. "There are five of them!" Marius exclaimed.

Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged worried looks at this very obvious fact. Time was running out; someone had to decide to stay, or all would lose their chance of leaving. As men shouted to Marius to choose which one of them should remain, Enjolras watched him turn pale with fright and panic.

Feuilly surreptitiously went over to where Enjolras stood. "Does he know about Courfeyrac's situation?" he asked in a low voice.

"I don't think so," Enjolras said slowly. As incredulous as it seemed, since Courfeyrac and Marius had been sharing a room for some months now, it was obvious that Marius had forgotten or was completely unaware of his friend's plight. At any rate, it was much too late for anyone to protest now.

As Marius began counting the men again, a small thump sounded on the ground. All eyes turned towards where a fifth uniform had fallen, as well as to the white-haired man who had thrown it.

"Who is this man?" Bossuet asked.

"It is a man who saves others," Combeferre observed.

Enjolras climbed down from the rampart to inquire about this newcomer. For a moment his mind went to the spy they had tied up earlier in the bistro. Surely this old gentleman wasn't another informer! If he wasn't, what was he doing at the barricade at this hour, at a time when all who entered were destined for the grave?

Marius glanced at the old man. "I know him," he said, just loud enough to be heard.

This assurance was enough for Enjolras. He clasped the newcomer's arm. "Welcome citizen," he said. "You know we are about to die."

The old man did not say anything before going to help one of the men don the uniform he had just given up. Enjolras thought of asking Marius more about the gentleman, but it was clear that Marius was too caught up in his thoughts to talk. "_Maybe it is better that I don't know," _he decided as he went to bid farewell to the five leaving the barricade.

After this, those who remained began to raise the height of the barricade facing the Rue de la Chanvrerie, and to completely close off the Rue Mondetour. As Enjolras helped add stones to the fortifications, he saw Courfeyrac at the door of the wineshop, carefully inspecting his sword-cane.

"Put a few more stones on that side," he told Combeferre and some of the others before climbing down to where Courfeyrac stood.

The younger man saluted jovially. "What a fortress and a rat hole we are making here," he remarked.

Enjolras put a hand firmly on Courfeyrac's shoulder. There was no use in asking 'why', but still he just had to set his mind to rest. "You didn't have to stay here, my friend. You know I was trying to tell you to leave."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "What for, Enjolras? I settled up my accounts already, and I trust that Paulette and Armand will be fine. It is clear where my place is."

"Yet you heard what Combeferre said."

"It was hard for me to keep my feet still where I was as we were all talking."

Enjolras nodded as he sat down beside Courfeyrac. The last year had changed his friend greatly; while on the surface he was still the congenial and carefree revolutionary student, there was a certain clarity and purpose that had not been there before. "_As if he now understands better what he fights for," _Enjolras thought.

"Armand won't have to know about all of the details. I told Paulette what she should tell him," Courfeyrac mused after a few moments. "On the bright side, he won't have to endure my growing into a fat and cantankerous old man, adhering to ideals and dreams of glory."

Enjolras smiled wryly at this joke. "What if he takes after you?" he quipped.

"Well, that would be a blow to the de Courfeyrac legacy." The younger man unsheathed the sword cane and put it on the ground with some of his other weapons. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think it would be the best outcome to all of this. All of what we do, what we fight for, it won't be for nothing," Enjolras said. Of course, there was no telling how Armand would turn out; the years were long and the times much too volatile for anyone to predict. "_Yet there's hope, always hope." _

Courfeyrac nodded before pulling Enjolras into a hug. "Thank you for everything, and for telling me that. I just had to know," he said in his friend's ear.

Enjolras patted Courfeyrac's shoulders before letting go. It was good that they had set all of these last doubts to rest. "You ready now?" he asked.

"As ready as I ever will be," Courfeyrac said before they got to their feet and went back towards the ramparts.


	16. Epilogue: 1848

_A/N: Finally, the last installment of this saga. Many thanks to all the people who have encouraged me to continue posting this story: Insanemistosingmore, Colonel Despard, Mlle. Verity, Mlle. Patria, Eponine Thenardier, Mam'zelle Combeferre, MmeBahorel, AMarguerite, Roses for Ophelia, PrinceEstenChemin, and Wendla Bergmann. _

_This epilogue is told from well…a strange point of view. _

_Eponine Thenardier: Wow. I was also imagining David Thaxton's portrayal of Enjolras as I wrote that past chapter! I wish I could write more about Armand too, beyond this epilogue at least! I'm not sure if I'll get to it soon though, since I've got work to deal with. But you never know. _

**Acquaintance With Responsibility (Epilogue) **

It was as if once again, fate had spared him to continue walking among the ranks of the living. This was the thought that filled Marius Pontmercy's mind as he attempted to put his study in order one morning in October 1848. The house on the Rue des Filles du Calvaire was quiet today; Cosette had gone to call on a friend while the children were at school. Marius' grandfather had passed on three years ago, followed a year later by Mlle. Gillenormand. The only surviving Gillenormand, Theodule, had spent most of the past few years with his regiment in Calais.

"_How long will it take till this Republic sorts itself out?" _he wondered as he sorted through some old papers. Finally, after sixteen years, Louis-Philippe had abdicated and some form of a new government was already taking shape. Although Marius knew that there was still much to be desired in the Republic, it was nevertheless, still a step in a long-awaited direction. "_I wonder what Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac would be doing if they were around today," _he thought for a moment before he caught himself. It was a question that would definitely never receive an answer; there was no telling how events would have played out if his friends had lived.

Marius sighed as he set the papers aside. It had taken some time till he had stopped having nightmares of gunfire, smoke, and blood. In fact, it had been only after the death of Cosette's father that Marius found he could look back on his memories of the Rue de la Chanvrerie as being more than a fevered dream or an inexplicable agony. In his eyes, the barricade had not exactly been a youthful misadventure, or even an idealistic stand. More than one, he had wished that he had been there for a _proper_ reason, or at least something more than just his personal desperation. Sometimes, he even wondered why of all the young men who had been in that redoubt, he was the one who had lived to tell the tale.

To tell the tale. It was a hard mission he had taken upon himself. He had done his best to honor the dead in other ways besides ensuring that they were properly buried and prayed for. Marius had found the note left by M. Fauchelevent about the glass business, and used the knowledge there to help start a small factory. In recent years, he and Cosette had donated some of their fortune to set up scholarships for deserving yet poor boys who wished to pursue their studies in Paris. Yet the one thing he still could not bring himself to do was to write down the entire story, if only to rescue it from becoming a sordid footnote in the regime of Louis-Philippe.

Marius opened another drawer where he kept his own scrawls, his own attempts to chronicle the heroic acts that he had mostly witnessed from afar. As he contemplated a certain awkward turn of phrase, he heard a knock on the door.

"Baron Pontmercy, there is a young man here to see you," Basque called from outside.

"Regarding what?" Marius asked calmly. Even after all these years, he still could not convince the members of his household to stop referring to him by his inherited title.

"A scholarship, Monsieur," Basque said.

"Ah yes, show him in," Marius replied, now remembering that particular matter. He had almost absent-mindedly agreed earlier in the week to interview yet another prospective scholar, a boy who had come all the way from Gascony and was now staying at the house of one of Marius' colleagues. "_Now I really should have remembered to ask Lautrec for the name of that boy," _Marius thought as he set his notes aside.

Basque opened the door and announced, "Monsieur Courfeyrac."

For a moment, it was as if Marius had been greeted by a thunderbolt. "_Surely this is some strange coincidence!" _he thought. Yet perhaps, it shouldn't have been so surprising, he reasoned to himself; perhaps his deceased friend had a brother or some near kinsman who had suddenly fallen on hard times.

A very young man entered the study, carrying his hat and an envelope. Although he couldn't have been older than seventeen years old, he still walked without any sign of timidity or obsequiousness. He had rich brown hair that was styled according to the latest fashion. He was impeccably dressed, he had a dimple in his right cheek, and his brown eyes were alive with humor and good cheer.

"Good day, Monsieur Pontmercy," this newcomer greeted, with a slight but polite bow.

"And same to you, Monsieur…Courfeyrac," Marius replied, hoping that his voice did not quaver. He briefly looked over the letter of introduction that the boy handed to him. "_So his name is Armand. That's a name that Courfeyrac never mentioned," _he thought.

"What can I do for you?" Marius asked cordially.

"Citizen-I mean, Monsieur Lautrec said that I should speak with you for help in my studies," Armand said. "I'm sitting the bac exam soon, and I hope to enroll in the law school after."

All this while, Marius was looking at his guest, trying to make sense of this entire enigma. The resemblance to his long gone friend was much too uncanny to be a mere coincidence. Surely, the late Maurice Courfeyrac couldn't have had a child; someone would have mentioned it sooner or later. However, Marius had to admit, he never made it a point to inquire about his friend's liaisons.

Marius cleared his throat. "How long have you been in Paris?" he asked.

"Two years. I came here with my mother," Armand replied.

"Where is she now?"

"She died in an accident last June, before the riots. I've been living with Monsieur Lautrec since then."

Marius nodded, wondering how he could possibly set his mind at ease without prying too far into Armand's history. "_Something tells me that this boy could have easily been on the barricades last February," _he thought. It was surprisingly easy to imagine this young man laying out an arsenal of small arms to defend a rampart.

At last, a proper question came to his mind. "Monsieur Courfeyrac, if you do not mind me asking, what brought you and your mother to Paris?" he asked, hoping that the query was innocuous enough to draw an honest answer, but not yet bordering on impropriety.

"To tell you the truth, Monsieur Pontmercy, I was actually born in Paris," Armand said lightly. He paused before continuing. "My mother was working in Picpus around the time I was born. She brought me to Gascony when I was a small child. However my grandparents insisted that I go to Paris for my studies once I was old enough. So we returned here. "

Marius smiled wryly. Clearly this was the circumspect version of Armand's past; there was a lot more to it than he was willing to speak of. "Monsieur Lautrec is your guardian now?" he asked a little pointedly.

"Not exactly. He took me in because I'm a friend of his son. My mother told me that I had a godfather, but he's dead now."

"You talk a lot about your mother. What about your father?"

"He died when I was still an infant, during the emeute after Lamarque's funeral. Might I say too, you're quite pale, Monsieur Pontmercy. Are you sure you're alright?" Armand asked concernedly.

"_God in heaven, it really cannot be true!" _Marius thought as he moved to sit in his chair. It was as if a puzzle was finally falling into place: why his friend had forsaken the Latin Quarter to live in the Rue de la Verrerie, why he had been extraordinarily busy in the months leading up to the emeute, among other small things that Marius only remembered more clearly in hindsight. As incredulous as the entire situation was, Marius knew he had to ascertain this boy's identity.

"I had a friend once too, also from Gascony. What was the name of your father? His given name, I mean," Marius asked seriously as he motioned for Armand to take a seat.

Armand smiled; it was an expression that was wry but proud all at once. "His Christian name was Maurice de Courfeyrac."

It was all that Marius could do to limit himself to nodding, when in truth he felt as if something was prickling at the backs of his eyes. "_Courfeyrac, you never mentioned you had a son!" _he thought. He berated himself now for not knowing; he had been so caught up in loving Cosette that he had not noticed these things about his friend.

"That friend of mine _was_ your father," Marius finally said, barely able to keep the emotion out of his voice. "He took me in more than once, when I was still a very young man, and a lot more foolish one at that. I wish I could have repaid him better for his kindness."

Armand nodded slowly, clearly trying to make sense of this information. "My mother told me about some of my father's friends, but she never mentioned you, Monsieur Pontmercy," he said at last.

"I never got to meet your mother personally. Your father kept me in the dark about plenty of his affairs," Marius admitted. "I was with your father though at the barricade."

"You were? I thought no one survived at the Rue de la Chanvrerie. That's where my godfather died too."

"_It was probably Combeferre," _Marius thought. He just couldn't imagine Enjolras or Prouvaire agreeing to such a thing. However there was no use again in pondering these matters.

Marius found he had to clear his throat again. In truth, the memories of those fateful hours in the barricade were now threatening to overwhelm him; they were clearer now than they had been even in the months immediately following the incident.

"A very good man carried me out of the fight when I was wounded to within an inch of my life." Marius answered at last. He felt a slight pang at the memory of his deceased father-in-law. "I really don't remember much of the last time I saw your father, but I know he met his end well. I know he was ready for it."

"He could only leave us so much to live on, but he did his best, I know. That's why my mother brought me to Gascony, to make sure that I would grow up well, as what would befit my father's son," Armand said in a serious but clear voice. It was evident that Courfeyrac's valiant ways had not just worn off onto his former mistress, but had also somehow passed to his son.

"_Yet what trouble they must have had of it," _Marius thought. He did not wish to imagine the details of the arguments and the general consternation that must have arisen when it became known that Armand had been acknowledged by his father. It was something that Courfeyrac surely would have taken care to do in the face of the risks he had been taking. It was perhaps one of the bravest things he had ever done.

Marius looked Armand in the face. "Your father was the best friend that any man could ask for. He always looked out for those around him. He stayed at the barricade for his beliefs as much as he did out of loyalty to his friends. I'm proud to have known him in some sort of way," he said slowly.

"I'm glad to know that, Monsieur Pontmercy," Armand said, managing a small smile.

"As far as I'm concerned, he left quite a pair of shoes to fill," Marius said. He looked at the letter he had so hastily put aside. Although he knew that he had more than enough reason now to help Armand out, he still had a few formalities to follow. "Monsieur Lautrec says you are quite quick, and that you have been doing much reading on different topics. If you do well on the bac exam, I believe you can make a good case for yourself."

Armand's smile grew wider. "Thank you, Monsieur Pontmercy. I shall do my best, I promise it," he said.

Marius nodded as he reached out to shake Armand's hand. "_Perhaps now I can be forgiven," _he thought. Hopefully it would not be so difficult for him to set to paper the tale that he had just told.


End file.
